The Devil's Due
by Meraki S
Summary: In the aftermath of a nearly disastrous encounter with a temporal anomaly, Reed welcomes a return to normalcy. However, past mistakes have a funny way of coming back to haunt you. An unpaid debt brings an old associate back into Reed's life, and the consequences may be farther-reaching than even he could have anticipated. Rated for violence/mature themes. Full warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

Warnings throughout for language, torture, gore, mental illness, and other mature themes. Honestly, there's pretty much everything in this story. If it's going to bother you, please don't read.

Disclaimer: You've heard it before. Not mine.

 **A/N:** This is a sequel to The Anachron Incident. It should make some sense as a stand-alone, but it does reference events in TAI and reading that story first will definitely help you understand what's going on, especially in the first few chapters.

* * *

"Relax, Lieutenant," Doctor Phlox said with a benign smile at his antsy patient that suggested that he could, and would, take all the time in the world to perform a simple examination, should he see fit to do so. "I assure you, Captain Archer is fully aware that you are required to undergo weekly check-ups until otherwise notified. I'm sure he would not put a meeting before the health of his Tactical Officer."

"It's a senior staff meeting," Lieutenant Malcolm Reed pointed out impatiently. "I can't just be late to it."

"Indeed you can, Mr. Reed." The doctor almost smiled at Reed's appalled expression. "But I don't see any reason that you should be late unless you refuse to cooperate."

Reluctantly, Reed slid onto the edge of the biobed and rolled up the sleeve of his uniform for a blood draw. Phlox set the computer to analysing the blood sample while he ran a hand scanner over Reed.

"How are you feeling? Any pain, dizziness, or concussion symptoms since last week?"

"No. I told you, Doctor, I'm quite well. I don't need to be examined every week."

Phlox hummed softly. "Perhaps not, hm? But consider it a small price to pay to ease the mind of your Captain and Doctor." He smiled an unnerving Denobulan grin at Reed, who was far too used to it to be startled. Phlox seemed to take great joy in having the most stubborn of his patients in for required examinations every week, while Reed had come to view them as an unnecessary nuisance to be avoided when possible and disposed with quickly when avoidance was impossible. Hence his reason for scheduling this one so shortly before an important staff meeting.

"How about psychological symptoms? Have you experienced recurring nightmares, heightened anxiety, or anything else you found troublesome?"

"No," Reed said, slightly less truthfully. It was true that he had been having trouble sleeping since the incident with the mysterious Anachron species, but it had been less than six weeks. He supposed a little lingering disturbance was only natural. It was sure to wear off eventually. Certainly he hadn't been having anything that he would consider a psychological problem. He felt alright and was doing his job just fine, and those were the only metrics of psychological or physiological health that he needed.

Phlox turned to examine the computer screen, which displayed the results of the completed blood analysis. "You still have trace amounts of the Zytexian chemical compound in your body, though it appears to be breaking down quite nicely," he reported. He peered into the Lieutenant's eyes with a piercingly bright light that made Reed blink and squint uncomfortably. "Slight retinal scarring…it should heal on its own in a few months, but if not, a relatively simple surgery would clear that up." Phlox brightened visibly. "Or if you would prefer a less invasive option, I have recently acquired a Trellan Neuroscoptic Leech, which is known to…"

"No thank you," Reed said firmly, suppressing a shudder. Phlox looked disappointed, and Reed heard him mutter something about "close-mindedness to proven science" as he put his instruments away.

"Sleeves up," Phlox said as he came back, gesturing. "Let's have a look at those burns."

Reed pulled both sleeves up above the elbows, revealing uneven patches of dark, glossy scars on his forearms and wrists. He'd sustained severe burns from the scalding controls of a shuttlepod piloted too close to a star. He loathed the sight of the scars, but they would fade with time and his experiences of several weeks ago had taught him nothing if not patience. Phlox nodded approvingly.

"You've been using the burn gel I gave you?"

"Yes."

"These are healing well. I expect they will begin to fade soon, but they will probably always be visible unless you opt for cosmetic surgery to remove them."

"I know." Reed pulled his sleeves quickly back down to cover the scars. "May I go, Doctor?"

"If you have nothing else to discuss with me, then you are free to go," Phlox told him. Reed slid off the table and started for the door.

"Thank you, Doctor," he called curtly over his shoulder, breathing a sigh of relief that he still had five minutes to make it to the staff meeting. That should be plenty of time.

* * *

He was the last one in, but they hadn't gotten started yet. Reed slipped triumphantly into the last empty seat between Ensign Travis Mayweather and Commander Charles Tucker, returning Tucker's buoyant grin of greeting with a quick nod.

"Sorry I'm late, sir," he said in an undertone to the Captain. Technically he wasn't late, since the clock only now showed 0759, but this was late by his standards.

"Phlox?" Captain Jonathan Archer guessed. He knew his Tactical Officer well enough to realise that there was always a good excuse if he was running behind. "All well?" he asked, at Reed's nod.

"Yes sir. I'm perfectly alright, these examinations are entirely redundant –"

Archer shook his head minutely. "It's not me, Malcolm, it's Starfleet. I think you can understand their caution."

"But if Phlox said he didn't see the need…"

"I'm not going to tell him to say that," Archer said, a faint flicker of disapproval on his face. "You know better than that, Lieutenant."

"Sir," Reed said stiffly, feeling chastened. He sat back and listened inattentively as the briefing slid through its usual motions – reports from each department, simple enough though important. He had long since learned to sort through the relevant details without devoting his full attention to it, and he did so now. The reports, in essence, boiled down to the same thing; Ensign Hoshi Sato reported all normal, as did Mayweather and T'Pol, in the form of a detailed narrative of the mostly-insignificant scientific phenomena scanners had picked up…

"We've been having some trouble in Engineering," Tucker said, bringing Reed's wandering attention back in an instant. "Some unusual power drains. I've managed to track it down, and it turns out it's those phase cannon modifications. It shouldn't be to difficult to reroute our systems back to what they were before…"

"No," Reed said quickly, drawing surprised glances. "There's a chance there are other tachyon-powered ships of that species out there. We should leave the modifications as they are. We can run on reduced power if need be."

"I…suppose I could try to fix the modifications so they don't cause a power drain," Tucker suggested. "It'll take a little longer – I haven't drawn up a schematic for it, but I can probably figure something out."

"Get on it," Archer nodded approval. "Anything else from Engineering?"

"Nothing pressing. I've got a few updates Starfleet sent me to run by you, but it's nothing big. I'll get around to it after I've taken care of these modifications."

"Anything from your end, Malcolm?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary, sir. However, I'd like your permission to build another plutonium warhead to keep on standby."

"Do you think it's likely we'll run into another Anachron ship?" Archer asked sceptically.

"It's entirely possible," Reed said tersely. "We have no idea where the first one came from. For all we know, we could be heading straight into their territory."

Archer frowned. "Hold off on that for now," he said. "Let's take care of the problem in Engineering before we start working on another nuclear warhead, shall we?"

"But if we do run into –"

"I said hold off on that, Malcolm. I'd like you to work with Trip to make your modifications to the phase cannons permanent and eliminate the power drain."

Reed considered making the point that full efficiency in Engineering was hardly a priority if the ship was destroyed, but he held his tongue. The chances of running into another Anachron ship were extremely small, he knew, though he still would have felt more comfortable with a nuclear warhead or two on board. Still, he wasn't about to openly argue the Captain's order.

"Yes sir."

"Very well then. Dismissed. Malcolm, stay back a moment."

Archer waited until everyone else had left before turning back to Reed, who had risen to leave before being held back by Archer's summons. "I get the feeling you're not exactly pleased with this arrangement, Lieutenant."

"I'm…concerned about the security risk, sir," Reed admitted respectfully, uncomfortably conscious that his protests had bordered on the unprofessional. "I would hate to be unprepared if we ran into another Anachron ship."

"I understand," Archer assented. "But please remember that this is a ship of science, not war. One of our best defences is the fact that we are scientists exploring peacefully. That's a claim we can hardly make, to either the citizens of Earth or to an alien species, if we're carrying around a weapon powerful enough to wipe out a continent."

"I just don't want us to be defenceless, sir." Reed felt a surge of frustration at the idea that the Captain was willing to risk another temporal anomaly and the destruction of the Enterprise on a matter of politics. Didn't he see that idealism and politics were worth nothing if they were destroyed?

"And we won't be. That's why I asked Trip to find a way to make the phase cannon modifications permanent."

"That's hardly enough, sir," Reed objected, feeling himself once again treading a thin line of disrespect.

"Lieutenant," Archer said firmly, with the note of steel in his voice that meant he was not yet angry but was unwilling to negotiate further, "you are sorely mistaken if you believe I would put this ship in unnecessary danger. I have explained my reasoning to you, and unless the situation changes, my orders stand. I am not careless with my crew."

 _My crew._ The words recalled a flash of memory – Archer's cloudy, dying eyes staring up, his last thought for the men and women he led – _My crew, Malcolm._

"With all due respect, sir," Reed said before he could stop himself, "you haven't seen what I have. You don't know what they're capable of. You didn't –" he checked himself abruptly, horrified, knowing he had crossed a line. Archer stared at him hard for a long moment.

"You have your orders, Lieutenant," he said at last. "You are dismissed."

Reed came to attention and left quickly, the Captain's eyes hard on his back as he left. All things considered, he had gotten off easy, though he felt slightly sick about the whole incident. He'd have to find a way to convince Archer to increase the ship's offensive capabilities. A few phase cannons might hold off an Anachron ship for a while, but they were a wholly inadequate protection. He rubbed his arms to ward off the chill of the air-conditioned turbolift and winced as the fabric scraped against the tender skin left on his arms by the deep burns.

Yes, something would have to be done. With a bit of careful design, perhaps he could come up with something equally effective that wouldn't appear as threatening on the scanners of an alien ship. If he circumvented the Captain's main argument against the warhead, Archer might be more likely to give his approval.

* * *

 _"Tucker t' Malcolm."_

"Reed here," Reed replied, glancing up from his frustrating work over a skeleton schematic he'd begun drawing up for a high-yield warhead not powered by plutonium. It was maddening, because plutonium was clearly the simplest and most workable material he could use, but that was off-limits. He had toyed with the idea of using warp plasma, but that had theoretically been what caused the temporal anomaly in the first place. Using it as a weapon against the tachyon field with which it had interacted to start the time loop would be entirely counterproductive.

 _"I've got a way to fix th' energy drain. Kin yew get inside that access tube and reconfigure the conduits while I redirect warp power fer a bit? I'll tell you what t' do."_

"That's not exactly my expertise," Reed pointed out warily. "Wouldn't one of your engineers be better off doing it?"

Tucker chuckled. _"They're yer phase cannons, Malcolm. It's nothin' too difficult if you've got a steady hand."_

"If you're sure," Reed said doubtfully. "Are you certain this will work? That was very fast."

 _"Fast! Where've yew bin? It's been four hours."_

Four hours? Reed looked at the chronometer and saw with a shock that it was indeed past 1200. Had he been lost in his schematics for that long? Unsettled, he returned his attention to the comm unit. "What do I need?"

 _"I'm sendin' you instructions now. Just download them to a PADD and bring it with you. Shouldn't require much more explanation, but I'll keep an open comm link just in case."_

"Very well." Reed scanned through the instructions Tucker sent him and gathered the equipment he would need. The procedure did indeed look simple, though he doubted it was as straightforward from Tucker's end.

The access tube was little-used, since it gave access only to two small power junctions, one from engineering and one to the phase cannons – hence the perfect place to splice together the power feeds. One end of the tube, which extended about five meters in both directions, gave access to these junctions, while the other was generally used for storage. Reed had not been in this particular tube since he had first modified the phase cannons with Tucker, back on that frantic and seemingly endless day when failure had meant destruction. It wasn't a welcoming memory. The back of Reed's neck prickled as he slid up into the warm, confined space. The bright spot his flashlight provided seemed small and insignificant.

 _Why aren't these lighted?_ Reed wondered with aggravation. _It could be a security risk. Anything could stow away down here._ Never mind the fact that this was the heart of the ship, in the centre of the well-protected and well-staffed armoury – all the more reason to keep it entirely secure. They'd found all kinds of things out here – who knew what could get into the ship without their knowledge?

Near the end of the tube Reed settled himself by the access panel and activated his portable communications unit before removing the panel. It came off easily, and he squinted at his PADD. Its dim backlight made reading difficult. Reed felt sweat running down his back, though he'd only been in the oppressive atmosphere for a few minutes.

 _"Tucker to Malcolm."_

The tinny crackle of Tucker's voice over the comm startled Reed, distracted as he'd been by the instructions on the PADD. His hand slipped as he opened his end of the link. "Reed here."

 _"We're ready to go at this end. You ready?"_

"Just a moment." Reed scanned through the PADD, checking to be sure he knew what he was doing. The procedure Tucker had outlined was simple, a slight variation of work he'd done a hundred times before. He activated his hypospanner and pinned the flashlight between his knees to give himself light to work by.

 _There's somethin' in here._

Reed flinched. The flashlight dropped and he narrowly avoided slicing his hand open on the thin, knife-like laser of the hypospanner. "What?"

 _"What?"_

"Did you say something?"

 _"Nope. Why?"_

"Never mind." Reed retrieved the flashlight and repositioned it. "Go ahead, Trip."

He concentrated firmly on the work in front of him, though the heat and stuffiness of the air were distracting. The job was not difficult, merely tedious, but with a live hypospanner it was always best to be fully alert.

 _It's hunting me!_

He recognized the words this time for what they were – a memory of the last time he'd been in here. Tucker, under the influence of a bizarre alien drug, had hallucinated an unknown being stalking him in the dark. Reed brushed the memory away impatiently, though he noticed that his pulse was elevated. Ridiculous. It was just a memory, and it hadn't even been real back then. He resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder.

 _Behind yew…_

In his mind's eye, Reed saw Tucker's petrified expression. A cold shock of adrenaline jerked through him and before he thought about what he was doing he had snatched up the flashlight and aimed it down into the darkness at the far end of the tube, which was punctuated only by a dim circle of light from the hatch. The bulkhead gleamed back at him, as white as bone. The tube was empty. Of course it was.

 _Get it together, Lieutenant_ , he chided himself angrily. Jumping at shadows like a child afraid of the dark – chief of security, indeed. Furious at his own irrationality, he applied himself to finishing the job as quickly as possible. The hot, fetid air was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe.

He finished welding the reconnected junctions and sat back, examining his work critically. A small lump of metal drooped unevenly from one of the welded areas, and he frowned with dissatisfaction at the inconsistency. Picking up the hypospanner again, he began carefully shaving the unevenness away.

 _"Looks like that's it,"_ Tucker said cheerfully over the comm. The unexpected voice made Reed jump and the hypospanner slipped in his clammy hand. The thin red beam cut into the flesh of his hand between his thumb and forefinger with laser precision.

"God dammit!" Reed nearly dropped the hypospanner, but knew better. He switched it off and cupped his other hand over the deep, bloody wound. "Bloody hell!"

 _"What is it? Everything okay?"_

"Yes. Fine," Reed gritted, wincing at the injury as he examined it in the light. It was more painful than dangerous, but for a cut this deep he'd definitely need medical attention.

 _"What happened?"_

"Nothing." It was an amateur mistake. He'd been careless and had paid the price. "My hand slipped. It's nothing."

 _"Are you hurt?"_

"Barely. I'm fine." Tucking the comm unit gingerly under his arm, mindful not to get blood on it, he started carefully back down the tunnel. He'd have to come back for his tools later. It wasn't like him to leave things lying around, but he had little choice in the matter.

 _"You didn't cut yourself on the hypospanner, did you?"_

"Just a touch. It's fine."

 _"Those things bleed like hell, Malcolm. Yer goin' to Sickbay. I'll order yew if y' make me."_

"No need, I'm going." Reed climbed awkwardly down from the tube into the startled gaze of Ensign Tanner.

"Sir, are you alright?"

"Just a nick, Ensign. I'll be back in a few minutes. See if Commander Tucker needs anything further."

As he made his way towards Sickbay for the second tome that day, Reed told himself that the shakiness was just from his injury. Adrenaline. Pain did that to you.

* * *

Reed sat on the same biobed he'd occupied that morning, feeling unreasonable sulky. It was his own damn fault he was in here again, but he would have liked to be able to blame it on Phlox. At least then he could tell himself that this was unavoidable. The towel that Phlox had given him to stem the bleeding was soaked with blotches of red. Reed grimaced at the sight.

"How did this happen?" Phlox asked in a business-like manner, bustling back over with a hand scanner and a hypospray that numbed Reed's hand and wrist when the doctor injected it into the uninjured side of his palm.

"Hypospanner," Reed explained laconically, allowing himself to relax minutely with the relief from the pain.

"Mr. Reed, you're quite aware of the necessity for care when using a hypospanner," Phlox chided. "It's far easier than you think to permanently harm yourself with one."

"So I see," Reed said wryly. "I trust I'm not permanently damaged, Doctor?"

"Let's have a look, shall we?"

Phlox dampened a fresh towel and wiped the blood from Reed's numbed hand. Slightly less obscured, the injury looked almost worse. The laser had cut into the side of his hand by the base of his thumb and sliced completely through his hand to a depth of about an inch and a half between his thumb and forefinger. Phlox skimmed the scanner over the afflicted hand.

"No sign of bone damage, but you've done quite a job here," he said cheerfully. "You'll be on partial duties for the next twenty-four hours."

"Partial duties!" Reed protested. "Doctor, it's just a cut!"

"Regenerators don't work magic, you know. You'll need at least two more treatments. Be back here at 0630 tomorrow."

"Just my luck," Reed muttered.

"If you don't mind my asking, how did this happen?" Phlox asked mildly. "Forgive me, Lieutenant, but you're hardly a careless man."

Reed hesitated. The tunnel had been hot, dark, cramped, filled to overflowing with sickening memories. It had been –

"Just a mistake. I got distracted."

* * *

"How's the hand?"

Reed looked up from the PADD he'd been poring over to find Tucker standing by his table. "Hm? Oh, it's fine." The offending appendage was bandaged, but it had stopped bleeding and the anaesthetic Phlox had given him had yet to wear off.

"What happened, anyway?"

Reed felt a flash of irritation. He wished people would stop asking that. "Careless error," he said testily.

"Careless? You?"

Reed shook his head, unwilling to pursue the line of communication further. Tucker sighed but gave it up.

"What are you working on?"

Reed pushed the PADD over to Tucker and sat back, sipping at his cold tea. He'd spent the past half-hour staring at the schematics he'd designed earlier without making any modifications. The problem, of course, was how to fuel the weapon's explosion without plutonium. There was little on the ship that was as powerful as the isotope, or as comparatively easy to work with.

"What is this?" Tucker asked. "How is this powered?"

"That's the problem," Reed explained. "I need something other than plutonium. Something that won't be as obvious if we were scanned."

"But what for?"

"What for?" Reed echoed incredulously. "For protection."

"Yew could still use plutonium," Tucker said absently. "You'd just need to shield it so it can't be detected." Reed's comment registered then, and he looked up, frowning. "Yer not thinkin' of making this, are you?"

"It's not much good as an idea on a PADD, is it?"

"But the Cap'n said –"

"I know what the Captain said," Reed assured Tucker. "But he also said his primary concern was the Enterprise looking too much like a warship to alien scanners. If I can hide it from scanners…"

"Look," Tucker said, disturbed, "I know you want to be sure we're protected in case we run into another Anachron ship, but you've got to admit it's pretty unlikely. We're running constant long- and close-range scans for elevated levels of Cherenkov radiation. They couldn't get within a light year without us knowing."

"You can't be sure of that," Reed said. Tucker didn't understand the threat, which was endlessly frustrating. He was the one person who should have understood better than anyone else. Reed retrieved the PADD and stood. "Don't worry, I'm not going to make it against the Captain's orders."

* * *

Reed's room was dark when he entered, feeling worn and weary. This day had been far too long. He switched on the lights and wandered over to his computer, absently flicking the display screen on to check for messages.

 _"Lieutenant Reed. It's been a while."_

Reed went very still, instinct kicking into high gear and prompting him don't react.

From the computer screen, Harris's nondescript face stared enigmatically back at him.

* * *

 **A/N:** I originally intended to publish this, or at least a version of it, last year. Then school hit hard and when I finally had time to write, this story decided to completely rewrite itself…I know – excuses, excuses. Unfortunately, since writing fanfiction doesn't pay, I have to fit it in around the rest of my life as a hobby. I will probably never post regularly on this site. I just like to share the bits of nonsense I occasionally create that other people might enjoy reading.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: If I owned the content in this story it would not be free on the internet.

* * *

"What do you want?" Reed asked guardedly, all his senses tingling on high alert. It had indeed been a while since he'd seen Harris – not since that dark night on the San Francisco street where his former employer had given him information about Terra Prime per Archer's request and wished him luck. Reed felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. He should have known he would see Harris again. The man wasn't one to let a debt go unpaid, and Reed was in his debt.

 _"You,"_ Harris said bluntly. He also wasn't one to beat around the bush, unless it was to his advantage to do so. _"The Section needs you back, Lieutenant."_

"No," Reed said. "I left your Section a long time ago. I told you not to come after me."

 _"Ah, but you came back yourself,"_ Harris said. _"You came back because you needed a favour, and I granted you that request. Surely you haven't forgotten what it means to owe a debt to the Section?"_

He hadn't forgotten.

"And before that you asked me for something, and I gave it to you," Reed growled.

 _"Because you owed it to me then. And now we find ourselves in the same position. You are in my debt, and I intend to make good on that. You know what happens if you refuse to pay what you owe to the Section."_

He did know. Reed's hands were clammy, and he seethed inwardly with helpless rage.

"What do you want." His voice was flat – a command, not a question. The briefest of smirks crept across Harris's lined face.

 _"I knew you would come around, Lieutenant. You've always been a sensible man. But you know how this works – you'll find out soon enough what we want."_ The smug tone dropped out of his voice as he became more business-like. _"At approximately 0600 tomorrow morning, your ship's scanners will detect a Minshara-class planet in orbit around a yellow main-sequence star similar to Earth's sun. The planet appears to be uninhabited, though there are traces of unidentifiable minerals on its surface which your Science Officer will believe could be undiscovered elements. Your Captain will authorize an away mission to explore the planet's surface. You will express an interest in this particular away mission. Your shuttle will land at the location of the highest mineral concentrations. You will find a reason to become slightly separated from the group, at which point you will be kidnapped by an apparent indigenous species which your ship's scanners did not detect. That is all you need to know for the moment."_

"Captain Archer will come after me."

 _"Captain Archer will not find you."_

"He'll search the whole bloody planet if he must," Reed said with feeling.

 _"Let him search,"_ Harris said dismissively.

"He won't stop until he finds me."

 _"He will find you. He will find you dead."_ Harris looked grimly at him. _"You forget, Lieutenant, that we possess your genetic material. Perhaps you have heard of the Lyssarian Desert Larvae?"_

Of course he had. It was the juvenile form of a unique creature which remained dormant until exposed to the genetic material of another animal, at which point it developed into a mimetic simbiot – an exact clone of the genetic material it was exposed to. Depending on the complexity of the animal it became, the simbiot had a lifespan of between seven days and two years – for a being as complex as a human, it would live about two weeks. But while it lived, it would be identical to him in every way. It would look like him, think like him, feel like him. And then Harris would kill it, when it was exactly at the stage of physical development that corresponded to Reed's own age. No one was to know the difference.

"Damn you," Reed spat. "That's murder. How dare you –"

 _"Don't misunderstand me, Lieutenant. The simbiot's body is already in stasis and being transported to the planet as we speak."_

Speechless, Reed could only glare at the man staring mildly back at him across light-years of space. _"You need not worry,"_ Harris added. _"You can return to your ship afterward, if you so desire. We have ways of explaining this to Starfleet, and you can be sure your Captain will not be sorry to have you back."_

"Bastard," Reed hissed furiously. Harris raised an ironic eyebrow at him.

 _"Temper, temper, Lieutenant! You have been gone a while, haven't you."_ It was a reminder, and a warning. In the Section, emotion was a weakness, and he didn't have room for such a weakness. Especially not now. _"If you're concerned about your family's reaction, we have ways to prevent them from finding out about your supposed death. Of course, you might always prefer them to think you met your demise in heroic protection of your crew."_

He was being baited. Reed refused to rise to it. "Do what you want. It doesn't seem I have much of a choice in this."

 _"You don't,"_ Harris said bluntly. He glanced at something Reed couldn't see in the camera's narrow range. _"You know what to do. Be sure this communique is completely deleted. Don't leave any chance for it to be reconstructed."_

The screen went dark. Automatically, Reed ran through the motions of deleting the communication and all traces that it left. When all records had been wiped, he sat staring at the dark screen for a long time, feeling numb. He'd been so convinced that he was out of the Section for good, with no loyalties left except to Starfleet, the Enterprise, and most of all Captain Archer. Bitter irony welled within him. He should have known better.

* * *

"I'd like to accompany the away team, Captain," Reed offered, keeping his face carefully bland and his voice mildly interested. It was alarmingly easy to slip into a façade of innocent normality. Just how close did other aspects of his Section training linger under the surface? The thought was disturbing.

"Aren't you on partial duties?" Archer asked. Reed stiffened at the reminder of his embarrassing mishap with the hypospanner.

"I cut my hand, Captain, it's hardly a debilitating injury."

"I doubt we'll need much security at any rate," Archer said. "This planet is uninhabited, as far as we can tell."

"Better safe than sorry," Reed pointed out reasonably. "Besides, if Sub-Commander T'Pol has detected new elements, they may have security applications. I'd like to go, Captain."

Archer smiled indulgently. "Very well. You, Trip, T'Pol, Crewman Alex, and Crewman Novakovich. Is that a team you can work with, T'Pol?" he asked, turning to the Science Officer. T'Pol raised an eyebrow slightly, as if to suggest that any team was one she could work with.

"Indeed. Captain, I suggest we begin this mission sooner rather than later. My scans of the region indicate a likelihood of inclement weather during the afternoons."

"Very well," Archer nodded his agreement. "Permission granted, Sub-Commander."

Reed followed T'Pol off the bridge with an icy feeling of dread in his stomach. He wondered when he would see the bridge again – see the Captain again. He felt like a deserter. Knowing the Section, and Harris, as he did, Reed was fully aware that the chances were not terribly high that he would ever see the inside of this ship again.

"Coming for a walk planetside?" Tucker greeted him cheerfully as the five-member away team entered the shuttlebay.

"Something like that," Reed said. "I'm interested in these minerals T'Pol picked up. You say they may be unknown elements, Sub-Commander? Were you able to determine anything about their properties?"

"They appear to share characteristics of both alkali and transition metals," T'Pol began, "though their density is unexpectedly low. It is possible that these could be compounds of known metals that have not been discovered in nature yet, but due to the resonance scan I performed, it is more likely that…"

The attention safely distracted from himself, Reed settled back in his seat in the shuttlepod and listened to the scientific conversation between Tucker and T'Pol as it ranged from the specific properties these elements displayed, to methods of extracting the elements from the planet's crust without causing destabilization, to Tucker's speculations on possible uses for the substances. For his part, Reed feigned interest. Under ordinary circumstances he would, in fact, have found this discovery quite interesting. However, there was little chance he would get to examine or appreciate the minerals.

He felt like a condemned prisoner walking to his execution. He wanted to appeal to the Captain, to T'Pol, to Tucker, to warn them about what was about to happen, to plead with them to help him. _I don't want to go._ But he had no choice. He was in Harris's debt, even if he had asked the man for a favour on Archer's orders. _Did you know what you were doing, Captain? Did you know they would come back for me?_

"You alright, Malcolm?" Tucker asked. Reed realised that he had been staring straight ahead without speaking for some time now, lost in thought. He nodded, and offered a smile that felt tight, though Tucker's answering grin was proof enough that it looked genuine.

"Fine."

It didn't matter, though, what he wanted. There was no way out of this, not this time. Harris and the Section had a hold on him, had it and would always have it, an undeniable hold that he could not escape or run from. He'd known that since he first began work for the Section all those years ago. There was an unspoken code in the Section, and that was as much a part of him as his own bloodline. He could deny it for a time, or ignore it, or fight it, but in the end he could not be rid of it. Not now, and not ever.

They had come back for him, and he accepted that fact. He didn't have to like it. He just had to survive it, if he ever wanted to see his ship, his crew, again.

He felt himself sliding back into the mind-set he'd developed during his time under Harris: one of heightened awareness, allowing his senses to feed directly to instinct; one of hardened indifference, a shell of protection from the unwanted thoughts, desires, and emotions that could distract an agent just long enough to prove fatal. He had a feeling that if he wanted to survive whatever Harris was about to throw at him – or throw him at – he'd need all the training he'd ever gone through.

* * *

Shuttlepod Two landed softly in a small expanse of long yellow-green grass encircled by wide-leaved greed trees on three sides, and a shallowly sloping outcrop of rock on the fourth. The air smelled sweetly pungent with the scent of alien vegetation and rot as the away team disembarked. Tucker breathed in the moist but not oppressive air as if he'd never experienced anything quite so pleasant. He shuffled his feet through the long, smooth grass.

"Feels good to be on solid ground again."

"The deck of the Enterprise is made of duranium alloy, Commander," T'Pol pointed out. "I assure you, it is quite solid." Reed thought he detected a note of wry amusement in her voice. Perhaps she too felt relaxed by the warm, balmy atmosphere. Then again, perhaps not.

"Scans indicate the highest concentration of mineral deposits in that direction," Crewman Novakovich reported, indicating the rocky outcropping. T'Pol nodded confirmation as she examined her own hand scanner.

"Lead the way, Crewman," Tucker said buoyantly.

Reed trailed slightly behind as they walked toward the rocks, but Crewman Alex trudged along beside him. Reed noticed that the Crewman kept his hand near the phase pistol at his belt.

"Something wrong, Crewman?"

"Ah – no sir." Alex glanced to see that the other three were not close enough to hear before lowering his voice. "Sir, this planet is uninhabited, isn't it?"

"That's what the scans showed," Reed answered calmly. "Why?"

"No reason, sir, really. It's just – it's probably nothing."

"What's probably nothing?"

Alex fidgeted awkwardly. "Just a feeling, sir. Since we landed…I've just had a feeling that there's something not quite right here."

Reed increased his pace slightly, gradually closing the gap between the two groups. "Want to explain that, Crewman?"

"I don't know that I can, sir," Alex said unhappily. "Like I said, sir, it's probably nothing."

"Hm." Ordinarily, Reed encouraged his men to pay attention to their instincts but not to act on them without proof. In this case, however, he knew Alex was exactly right, though there was no danger to the other members of the party. There should be no danger to them. He was impressed by Alex's intuition. He felt it too, though he'd assumed that was due to the fact that he already knew what was amiss. Their surroundings were eerily silent. Scans had showed that the planet was heavily populated with small life forms similar to Earth birds and insects, but there was no sound of these. Apart from the light breeze that ruffled Reed's hair, the planet seemed to be holding its breath. Reed glanced up at the sky, blue above them but heavy with far-off clouds near the horizon. "Perhaps it's the weather," he remarked. "Sub-Commander T'Pol did say there would be heavy storms in the afternoon."

"Perhaps that's it, sir," Alex agreed. He didn't sound convinced.

"At any rate, we might as well be careful," Reed said, seeing his opportunity. "Stay near the others, but not too close. Take the left side, I'll go right. I wouldn't worry too much, though," he added. "Sub-Commander T'Pol scanned the planet carefully."

Alex nodded, reassured, and the two separated, speeding up to catch up with the others. Reed kept a distance of about ten metres between himself and the group as they neared the rocks. The Section wouldn't need much chance, he knew, but he did need to give them that chance.

As Tucker, T'Pol, and Novakovich reached the rocks, Reed skirted to the side along the base of the outcropping, following it some distance to the side before starting up it. He allowed his proximity to the group to widen to some thirty metres. They would be close, he knew, though he couldn't see or hear them. He was impressed – but maybe it was only that his senses had dulled in his time away from the Section.

Reed felt a sharp, sudden prick in the back of his neck like an insect's sting. He clapped his hand to the spot and pulled it away with a spot of blood and a short, sharp splinter of wood in his palm. He dropped the splinter to the ground, shaking his head. Tranquilizing him? Really? Surely they knew he would cooperate. Then again, perhaps the splinter carried no chemical substances and was simply a way of getting his attention, warning him to be on the alert. Reed rubbed his neck again and started up the rocks at a slower pace, careful to avoid steep or slippery areas, in case he had been sedated.

"Come on, Malcolm," Tucker called from near the top of the rocks. When had he gotten so far ahead? Reed didn't realise he'd been moving so slowly. He smiled softly. Now that it had begun, his anxiety had gone. He had been tranquilized, he knew. He could feel it now: the spreading tingle on the back of his neck, the heaviness on his limbs, the numbness in his fingers and face. He started forward again, but his movements were sluggish and wobbly.

"Malcolm? What's wrong?" Tucker's voice sounded a long way off. With effort, Reed raised his head to look up at him. It would probably be the last he saw of his friend for a long time. Concerned, Tucker started toward him.

Through his fading senses, Reed heard a sudden commotion behind him and turned to see four or five humanoid figures surging towards him. They were coming for him. But what strange agents, or how good their disguises! Long-haired, dirty and ragged, ridged faces blank and devoid of full intelligence – so this was the "indigenous race" Harris had spoken of. Reed had to admit it was convincing.

His legs gave out and Reed crumpled to the ground, his eyes sliding closed against his will. The last thing he heard was Tucker screaming "Malcolm!"


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Yes, I have suddenly acquired all rights to Star Trek since posting my last chapter. Or I'm being sarcastic. It's one of the two.

* * *

"Yew said the planet was uninhabited!" Tucker said accusingly, glaring across the table of Archer's briefing room at T'Pol.

"That is what sensors indicated," the Vulcan said calmly. "It appears that these life forms were not detected by our scanners. I am running an analysis to determine why."

"Not detected? You don't say," Tucker grumbled, already feeling guilty for his harshness to her. It wasn't her fault, after all, and he wasn't really angry with her. He was worried sick and furious with himself, just looking for someone else to blame it on. He should have been more careful, should have kept Reed closer to the group instead of letting him wander off.

"Cool it, Trip," Archer said warningly, though the engineer had already subsided into sullen silence. "We're going to get him back. T'Pol, have you been able to detect Malcolm's biosign?"

"I have not, Captain," T'Pol admitted reluctantly. "However, it is possible that whatever prevented me from detecting the planet's indigenous inhabitants is also preventing me from locating Lieutenant Reed."

 _Or he could be dead,_ Tucker tried not to think.

The door slid open to admit Doctor Phlox. Archer rose to his feet expectantly. "What news, Doctor? How is Crewman Novakovich?"

"I see no cause for concern," Phlox said. He held out a small glass container to Archer. Through its transparent sides, Tucker could see a small, sharply pointed piece of wood. "I discovered this in Crewman Novakovich's neck. It is covered with a powerful plant-based sedative." He paused. "An interesting side effect is that I am currently unable to detect Crewman Novakovich's biosign. I can obtain medical readings with a hand scanner at close range, but my imaging chamber reports that he is deceased when, clearly, he is not."

Tucker felt warm relief wash over him. "So that's why we can't pick up Malcolm's biosign, Doctor?"

"It is quite possible," Phlox said optimistically. He turned to T'Pol. "I believe this may also explain your inability to detect the indigenous life forms on this planet. If the plant that secretes this chemical forms a part of their diet, or if they consume animals that eat this plant, their bodies would contain trace amounts of the substance, making them impossible to detect. They could have built up an immunity to the substance's sedative properties, or it could be simply ineffective when ingested rather than injected."

"How long until this substance wears off?" Archer asked. Tucker could see where the captain was going.

"Difficult to say, Captain," Phlox admitted. "I've synthesised an antidote to counteract its effects, but I am still unable to detect Crewman Novakovich's biosign." Archer nodded and turned to T'Pol.

"T'Pol, I'd like you to start working on the scanners. See if you can configure them to work around this. In the meantime, Trip, I want you to take a security team down to the surface to search for Malcolm. Have the doctor inoculate you with his antidote before you go."

"Yessir," Tucker said grimly. "We'll find him, Cap'n."

* * *

Hazy awareness returned slowly, and it was a long time before Reed could distinguish between reality and the chaotic, confused dreams of a drugged sleep. He heard deep voices speaking in a rough, broken language that he vaguely recognised, though he couldn't place it, and felt the low vibrations of a ship's engines around him. When he opened his eyes his vision was blurry and gave him only an indistinct view of a dark room dimly lit with a reddish glow. He tried to sit up, only to realise that his hands and chest had been bound to the surface he was on with thick bands of an inflexible material. He couldn't feel his legs. This was far less disconcerting than it should have been. He was still heavily drugged, and couldn't quite bring himself to struggle against his bonds.

Footsteps approached, and a dark shape he couldn't make out leaned over him. Fingers pried his eye wide open and a bright light pierced burned into Reed's retina, making his eyes water.

"He'll be waking up," one of the deep voices grunted, speaking English. "Drug him again. Knock him out, just don't kill him. Harris wants him alive."

Another voice replied in the alien language. Reed felt the sharp prick of a needle in the side of his neck, and his eyes slid closed again. Just before awareness left him, his drugged mind supplied a name for the unaccountably familiar language: Klingon. He had no time to process the implications of this before blackness surrounded him again and pulled him back into the ethereal world of dreams.

* * *

Back on the planet's surface, Tucker saw that the balmy atmosphere of earlier had entirely changed. The storms of the afternoon had given way to a cool, damp early evening, but the calm was deceptive. The search party kept silent and close together as they followed their scanners to the place where Reed had been abducted.

"I've got a biosign," Crewman Alex said in an undertone, indicating his scanner. Carefully, followed by Tucker and four armed MACOs, he started forward into the trees. Under the canopy of vegetation, all was dim and quiet except for the flat plop of water droplets dripping onto wide leaves. Their feet made little sound in the long grass, which was flattened into a drenched mat by the rain. Although the temperature was mild, the humidity was oppressive. Tucker's breathing sounded loud and close in his own ears, and when Alex stopped and spoke in a low voice, it might as well have been a shout.

"Lost it," he said, frustrated. Tucker stepped forward with his own scanner, to no result.

"Dammit," he muttered softly.

"Over here, sir," one of the MACOs said. Tucker turned to find the man examining a patch of ground where the matted grass had been disturbed. "Something was here. There's a trail."

Tucker couldn't see the trail himself, beyond the tousled grass, but the MACO, Corporal Ryan, pointed out a broken stem here, a torn-up tuft of grass there. His scanner and Alex's still picked up nothing, but what else was there to go on? Tucker followed the two men through the dense undergrowth. The rest of the away team followed closely.

Ryan stopped suddenly and knelt, examining something on the ground. "Sir," he said softly, beckoning. Tucker hurried over to see the grass coated with something dark and wet. He bent to touch it, and his hand came away sticky and red.

"It's human," Alex confirmed, sending a shot of anxiety through Tucker. There was a lot of blood here – perhaps not a fatal amount, but far too much for comfort. "Sir, I'm getting something –"

"A biosign?" Tucker asked quickly.

Alex hesitated just too long. "I – I can't tell, sir. It could be. It's close."

* * *

"How are those sensors coming?"

"Nothing yet, Captain," T'Pol answered patiently, for the sixth time. Archer gripped the armrests of the Captain's chair, resisting the urge to pressure the Vulcan to work faster. His urgency was of no utility to her. As unconcerned as she seemed, Archer knew that she was working as efficiently and quickly as any of his crew could, and probably more so. He took a steadying breath and wondered at his own anxiety. This was not the first time someone in his crew had gone missing, and although he was always worried, this time felt different. He was having difficulty concentrating. Already he had to resist the childish urge to ask T'Pol again if she had made any progress. Archer worried that his disquiet would rub off on the rest of the bridge crew. With a conscious effort of will, he forced himself to relax.

"Sir, we're being hailed." Sato's voice broke his thoughts, bringing the tension rushing back. "It's Trip. Audio only."

"Patch it through," Archer said sharply.

"Aye, sir."

"Trip?" Archer asked, when Sato's nod told him the channel was open. "Did you find him? Report."

" _I – yes, sir_." Tucker's tone was oddly flat. Archer's skin crawled unpleasantly. " _Captain_ –" there was the slightest of breaks in his voice, just enough to tell Archer the truth before Tucker spoke the words. " _Malcolm's dead_."

* * *

When Reed woke for the second time, it was more fully. He could still feel the sedative lurking at the edges of his consciousness, dulling his senses, but only faintly. He stared up into the red glow surrounding him and made out a dark ceiling far above.

"Lieutenant Reed, glad to see you've finally re-joined us." Harris's voice spoke from beside him. Reed turned his head to see the man sitting cross-legged in a chair beside him. Slowly, Reed tested the boundaries by shifting his hands, and he was surprised to find he was no longer bound. He sat up shakily and looked around.

"Ah, yes," Harris said. "I'm afraid my Klingon colleagues were somewhat crude, if effective, in their methods. I asked them to remove the restraints. No need for such things." There was a hint of distaste in his voice, as if the thought that Reed might have to be _compelled_ to cooperate was absurd.

"Klingons?" Reed's voice was a bit slurred, but the full impact of this realisation hit him like a sledgehammer. "You're working with the Klingons?"

"Come now," Harris said reprovingly, with a slight frown. "We have ties with everyone. You know how we operate."

"Trust no one, know everyone," Reed said. "Yes, I remember. But the Klingons are enemies of the Coalition."

Harris's face was difficult to make out in the darkness. "All the more important that we have ties to them, then."

There was logic in that, Reed had to admit, though he hated it. What must Harris have done to forge this alliance? The thought almost made him shudder.

"I'm no traitor, Lieutenant, whatever you may think of me," Harris said, as if he'd read Reed's thoughts. "There are much worse threats to the Coalition than the Klingons. _You_ had the peculiar fortune to encounter one of those worse things recently. That is why you are here now."

Reed didn't need to think hard to understand what Harris meant. "The Anachron ship."

"Exactly," Harris said. "You may find this hard to believe, but I didn't want to pull you back in. I intended to let you go after the last time we met. But you've become valuable to me again. You have information, you have experience, and more importantly…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "But we'll talk about that later. For now you know enough about why I brought you back. This Anachron species you were fortunate to discover is one of the greatest dangers the Section has ever encountered. However, Starfleet Command does not agree. We must handle this matter discreetly."

"I don't know that I was fortunate," Reed said darkly.

"On the contrary, Lieutenant, I believe you were extremely lucky," Harris said, and Reed lacked the desire to continue the debate any further.

"Where are we now?" he asked. He looked around the dim room for a clue, but there were no star charts visible on any of the computer monitors.

"That is not important," Harris said. "You are exactly where I need you to be right now."

That was one of the most unhelpful answers Reed had ever gotten. "What about the Enterprise? Tri – Commander Tucker and the away team? You didn't hurt them, I suppose?"

"No reason for concern, Lieutenant. We darted your Crewman Novakovich so it wouldn't look suspicious, but he will recover quite well under your doctor's care. No one else was touched, though I expect they will be saddened by the death of their Tactical Officer." He checked the chronometer on his wrist. "Yes, they should have found your simbiot by now."

Reed felt a flash of pure hatred for the man sitting in front of him, calmly talking about how the people Reed cared about would be grieving and in pain over his apparent loss. Harris frowned, apparently seeing the displeasure in Reed's expression.

"Lieutenant, perhaps you think I'm being callous. I assure you that I don't do this because I enjoy it. I have taken only the measures necessary to accomplish what I must. This Section is one of the greatest forces at work in the known universe, and our purpose is to protect mankind. That includes your ship and her crew. Do you think they won't be affected by what we – by what _you_ – do here? On the contrary, you will be helping to protect them and what they stand for."

"How idealistic," Reed said cynically, but his anger faded against his will.

"That's the attitude I remember," Harris said approvingly. He stood up. "You might as well get some more rest," he suggested. "We'll be at our destination in a few hours, and I daresay you'll need all the rest you can get."

"And where exactly is our destination?" Reed asked as Harris made to leave. The older man smiled faintly at him.

"Where it always is, of course. It is exactly where we are going."

* * *

Although Phlox had advised against it, Archer felt a strange compulsion to see the corpse that Tucker's team had retrieved from the surface of the planet. He knew what the doctor's procedural DNA test had shown; but somehow, he had to see with his own eyes. It was the only way he could convince himself that his officer was actually dead.

He felt oddly impassive as Phlox led him to the corner of Sickbay where a thick black plastic bag lay on a biobed, concealed behind curtains. He wasn't sure what to expect. He'd heard the preliminary report of Reed's injuries, but official photos had not been taken yet. In addition, he wasn't sure what to expect from himself. Would even this make him accept Reed's death? Sitting in his office and staring blankly at Phlox's report, he'd found himself half-expecting to be hailed by a disgruntled Reed, asking why the hell he'd been left behind on the planet. The thought of his Tactical Officer's lifeless body lying in Sickbay was simply too surreal to fully accept.

"Captain, I must request that you not view the body," Phlox told him softly, though he was already preparing to unzip the bag. Archer guessed that the Doctor didn't actually expect him to agree, which was just as well since he didn't intend to.

"Doctor, if you would." He nodded toward the zipper. Phlox sighed.

"Please be advised that he suffered severe injuries before death. It is – 'not a pretty sight.'"

"I understand."

Phlox unzipped the bag and pulled the sides apart, then slowly folded back the dark cloth that covered Reed's body. Archer saw immediately that he had been right. It was not a pretty sight.

Reed's throat had been slit – and not with a single, clean cut. It looked as if someone with a blunt knife had tried repeatedly before finally managing to sever deep enough to kill. Worse still was the injuries to his chest. Two cuts, running diagonally perpendicular to form an "x," sliced through skin, muscle, and bone. The sides of the wound had been peeled back, exposing a bloody mass of internal organs. Archer was no doctor, but even he could tell that the organs had not remained undisturbed in the natives' gruesome exploration of the intruder on their world. Whether from curiosity or in some brutal ritual known only to them, the indigenous inhabitants of the planet below had apparently conducted a dissection of sorts.

Blood, mostly dried or coagulated, caked much of the body below the throat. A few trickles of dried blood still clung to the white face where they had run from Reed's nose and mouth. Besides that, the face showed little sign of trauma. There were no bruises; the eyes were almost shut, with just the barest slit of dull grey showing beneath the lids; and though the expression was pained, it showed no agony or fear.

Archer stared silently down at the body until Phlox slid the cloth back over Reed's chest and face and zipped the bag up again. This sound finally dragged him from the mesmerized stupor.

"There were no injuries of note on his lower body," Phlox said quietly. Archer nodded. It was good of the doctor to preserve Reed's dignity, even in death. Archer opened his mouth to thank Phlox for allowing him to view the body, but he couldn't find any words.

"He was drugged, Captain," Phlox said gently. "I am quite sure he was unconscious at the time of death."

Archer nodded slowly. Reed hadn't felt a thing. Did that make it better? Not really, Archer thought. He might not have been in pain, but neither had he been given the chance to fight. That wasn't what he would have wanted.

"Thank you, doctor." It wasn't what he wanted to say. _Who would do this_ , perhaps, or _why did this happen? How could this happen? What the hell am I supposed to do?_ But he was the captain. It was his job to answer those questions for his grieving crew, not ask them. He looked up at Phlox as he spoke, and behind the Denobulan's professional calm he saw that the doctor was as shaken as he. Archer clasped Phlox's shoulder briefly. "Thank you," he repeated, feeling utterly inadequate.

He walked back up to the bridge in a mindless haze, the image of Reed's dead body imprinted firmly into his mind. What had he accomplished by looking at that? It was his duty, he supposed, in some way. Reed was his officer, and even now he had an obligation to him.

An obligation. Archer's heart sank. For the first time, he thought about his next steps. Clearly a conversation with Admiral Gardner was next – overdue, if he was being honest with himself. And after that…Reed's parents had to be notified.

It was not the first time Archer had had to notify next of kin of a death, but that made it no easier, and the fact that he'd had – at least to some extent, though he wasn't sure how far it had been reciprocated, especially in the past months – a personal as well as professional relationship with Reed only served to make the impending conversation more difficult. Not for the first time, Archer wished that Starfleet still practiced the old military tradition of notifying next of kin with an in-person visit from an experienced representative.

The atmosphere on the bridge was worse than Archer had ever seen it. Against his will, his eyes were immediately drawn to the tactical station, where Ensign Tanner sat hunched over the controls. He hadn't lowered the seat from the setting at which Reed had left it, which made it much too high for him. Archer scanned the crest of the crew silently. Mayweather had his back turned. His shoulders were slumped. Sato was fighting tears with marginal success, but her hands remained steady. Tucker was missing entirely. At a guess, he was either in his quarters or buried somewhere in the bowels of the ship's engines, trying to rid himself of the sight that Archer knew neither of them would stop seeing for a long time. Only T'Pol looked remotely normal, although she did not meet his eyes completely when he looked her way. Archer searched for something to say, but the well of available wisdom was dry. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"Travis, plot a course for Earth. Hold off on my word."

"Yes sir," Mayweather croaked. His hands trembled as he went to work on the control panel.

"If any of you need to be excused for personal reasons, you have my permission to call a relief," Archer told them. "It's been a difficult day. I'll be in my ready room if you need something. Please try not to disturb me; I'll be speaking with Admiral Gardner."

There was no answering murmur of assent, but he hadn't really expected one. At the door of the ready room he paused and turned to the tactical station.

"Ensign Tanner." Sentiment had no place in the continued function of the Enterprise. "Please lower your chair, it's much too high."

He suspected even Reed would have left Tanner alone.

* * *

Reed slept restlessly, feeling the time slipping by between indistinct, disturbing dreams of things he'd seen, things he'd done – or perhaps not. In the trance-like quality of his still somewhat drugged sleep, there was no way to be sure of the reality of what he saw. He woke, feeling mildly sick, some hours later, when Harris re-entered the room.

"Come," Harris said, seeing him awake. Still in his uniform, which had begun to feel sticky and uncomfortable, Reed slid off the hard bed and followed him, blinking to clear lingering sleepiness and dizziness from standing up too quickly.

As they walked through the ship, which Reed soon realised was a Bird of Prey, he caught glimpses now and again of its Klingon crew, but none spoke either to him or to Harris and for the most part they turned away upon seeing the two humans. This behaviour struck Reed as oddly uncharacteristic of the normally bold, aggressive species, but he knew better than to ask questions he didn't need the answers to.

From the Bird of Prey, they embarked onto a Starfleet shuttle, which surprised Reed. He glanced back at the Klingon ship as they left, but he couldn't see it.

"Is that ship cloaked?" he asked, disturbed.

"Yes," Harris said, and offered no explanation. As far as Reed knew, only the Romulans possessed effective cloaking technology – and the Romulans and Klingons were certainly not on friendly terms. The realisation that Klingons apparently now had cloaked ships was deeply unsettling. Reed slid into the co-pilot's seat beside Harris and stared out of the front viewport. They were approaching a half-built space station, one he'd never been to but recognised instantly both from pictures he'd seen and because of the planet looming behind it.

"Jupiter Station?"

He saw Harris's nod in his peripheral vision. "It's come a long way since you were last in the system," he said. "The lower half is already permanently staffed. Largely medical and scientific, of course, but we have a facility there as well. Experimental work, according to Starfleet pay rosters. We're studying psychological effects of life in deep space. I thought it was a nice little irony."

"How long was I out?" Reed asked, ignoring Harris's pleasure at the Section's deceit. The Enterprise had been far from the solar system; it would have taken them weeks at maximum warp to get back to Jupiter Station. Either Reed had been drugged unconscious for far longer than he thought, or the Klingons had higher warp power than he or anyone in Starfleet suspected. Harris only smiled and replied, "Long enough."

They docked at a small, isolated port in an unremarkable location a third of the way up the constructed bottom half of the enormous station. Once through the airlock, they were met by a young woman with short brown hair, dressed in the white coat-over-jeans of a casual physician's assistant or a lab technician.

"This is Sam," Harris said briefly, and Reed knew that was all he needed to know or was likely to ever know about this woman. "Go with her."

Somehow, Reed had expected Harris to stay with him. There was of course, he saw now, no reason for Harris to do so. Reed nodded acknowledgement and followed Sam as the woman started along the corridor.

"When was the last time you ate?" she asked over her shoulder in a pleasant but professional tone.

"I don't know," Reed said, honestly. "It's been a while. I'm not hungry, though."

"Oh, I wasn't offering you food," she said chirpily. "It's best if you haven't eaten in a while. You may feel nauseous."

"Why?" Reed asked warily, but the technician didn't answer. Reed supposed he would find out soon enough.

"Wait in here," she said at last, guiding him into a bare examination room, empty but for a strange-looking biobed and cabinets from floor to ceiling along one wall. The biobed had leather straps dangling from its sides, clearly restraints for its occupant. "We'll be ready for you soon. Please remove your clothing."

Reed stripped to his underwear, feeling remarkably un-self-conscious in the sterile medical environment. He did not sit on the biobed with its ominous straps, but instead leaned his back against the wall and settled himself to wait. In the absence of anything to occupy him, he felt his heartbeat begin to pick up. What were they going to do with him? Neither Harris's laconic replies nor Sam's "you may feel nauseous," boded particularly well for him. But anxiety, he reminded himself, was a luxury that he had little room for. No matter what Harris intended, it was going to happen regardless of what Reed personally thought about it.

He didn't have long to wait. Sam re-entered after only a few minutes, with a man about Reed's age who barely glanced at his patient. "This is him?"

"Yes." Sam adjusted the controls on the biobed until the back was raised to a seated position, and Reed realised that it was not a biobed at all, but a heavily-built medical chair. "Have a seat, Mr. Reed."

He seated himself obediently, without showing a trace of the reluctance he felt. In a business-like manner, Sam began fastening the straps over his wrists, arms, and legs. Reed felt his heart beating hard and fast with adrenaline.

"Is this really necessary?"

"Yes," Sam said, tightening a strap around his chest until he could feel it constricting his lungs. At least they didn't put a strap around his throat, Reed thought grimly. The man – a physician, Reed assumed, ran a hand scanner over him with the quick professionalism of a doctor with many patients to attend. He drew several vials of blood from Reed's arm, then unlocked the cabinets on the wall and opened them.

Lurking behind the wooden panelling like a carnivorous beast was a machine that Reed had never seen the like of. Wires drooped off of an oval-shaped body of dull grey metal, from which a hydraulic arm protruded. Most of the wires trailed up along this arm and attached to the round protrusion on the end, which was slightly larger than a human head. Reed was mesmerised by the bizarre sight until he realised with sudden alarm that this protrusion was to be placed over his head. He stiffened as the doctor moved the hydraulic arm toward him, but kept quiet. Harris knew what he was doing, didn't he?

It was dark inside the helmet-like contraption, and despite small vents in front of his nose and mouth, Reed felt the moisture of his breath pooling uncomfortably against his face. He couldn't see. He felt someone attaching small, needled ports to various places on his body – chest, arms, hands, and neck.

"We're going to perform a series of scans," Sam said, her voice sounding muffled through the metal around his head. "It may be uncomfortable for you, but you should experience a relative minimum of pain."

A _relative_ minimum of pain? What did that mean?

Lights popped brightly, directly in front of his eyes, making him flinch. The lights flashed again, and kept flashing, varying in pattern, tempo, colour, and intensity. It was dizzying. He closed his eyes against it, but the light glared through his eyelids so that it made no difference. A prickling pain shot through him from each of the ports connected to his body. It felt like he was being electrocuted, although it was not so much painful as incredibly uncomfortable. Reed clenched his hands involuntarily on the armrests as his muscles stiffened against his will. His head spun, and the lack of any visual reference point to orient himself made it worse.

He thought the lights stopped, but perhaps he only lost consciousness, because the next thing he knew the contraption was being removed from his head and most of the needled ports on his body were gone. He had no sense of how much time had passed, but he suspected it had been much longer than it seemed. The doctor was gone. Reed felt unnaturally exhausted, and he flinched uncomfortably at even the light touches of the restraints being removed. He kept his eyes pressed closed against the bright white lights of the exam room, fighting nausea and a migraine headache. The lights dimmed, blessedly.

"Mr. Reed?" the voice of the technician prompted him. Sam, he thought, trying to connect the name to something concrete. "Mr. Reed, can you open your eyes, please?"

He managed it with difficulty, and the world swam around him. Reed gagged from the dizziness and brought up nothing but acid into the basin held in front of him. He winced at the burn in his throat.

"This will pass soon," Sam said, sounding unconcerned, as if she'd seen it many times before. Probably she had.

The disorientation faded slowly and after a while Reed was able to open his eyes more than a pained slit. He was sore all over and his muscles kept twitching involuntarily, sending jolts of pain through his aching limbs. His head throbbed sharply with every beat of his heart. The leather of the seat burned against his bare skin.

"What did you do to me?" he croaked, his throat raw from acid.

"No permanent harm," Sam said. "Let me know when you can stand. I'll take you to somewhere more comfortable."

It was a long time before Reed could stand, and even then he needed the support of the wall. Sam provided him with loose-fitting garments of a thin, light material, and he dressed with painful slowness. Even the soft fabric stung his skin when it brushed against him.

"Hypersensitivity," the technician explained to his slightly-less-than-coherent question. "It's a common reaction."

All that meant to him was that everything bloody hurt. He limped out of the room with her support and after a time found himself being led into another bare room with a toilet and a sink in one corner and a cot on the other side. He collapsed on the cot, too exhausted to care about the shooting pains it sent through him. He heard the door lock after Sam left, and he had the distinct impression that he would never see her again – not that it mattered. He'd experienced this before in the Section. You hardly ever saw people who did things to you a second time. It was always a new face, one you couldn't associate with anything, either good or bad.

Reed curled into the least uncomfortable position he could find and closed his eyes, but his muscles kept spasming, twitching him away from the brink of a twilight sleep, and it was a long time before he fell into a troubled doze.

* * *

"I'd like to hunt down every one of those bastards and kill them with my bare hands," Tucker said hoarsely, not directing the words exactly at Archer but rather at a spot on the table of the Captain's mess somewhere between Archer's glass of scotch and his own – both untouched. "I know, it wouldn't do anything," he added miserably, forestalling the Captain, "but it might make me feel better."

"I doubt that," Archer said. He sounded unbearably weary. "You'd regret it."

"Maybe." He would regret it as soon as it was done, but his helpless rage wanted an outlet and found none. "I just wish – he shoulda gone down fightin', Cap'n, not like this." Not drugged and helpless, perhaps struggling feebly as the aliens slit his throat and carved open his chest with their dull knives. It might have taken him a long time to die. Tucker felt sick at the though. He never would have pictured it like this – Malcolm, killed in a meaningless, freakish murder by a barely-sentient species on a planet with no more significance than the next. It was such an un-Malcolm-like way to die that Tucker was sure he would never be able to reconcile his friend's death with the circumstances.

"I know," Archer agreed. His face was lined with pain. He looked older than Tucker had ever seen him. "I think Gardner blames me for carelessness. He's right; we jumped straight into that planet without bothering to take a closer look."

"It's not your fault. The scans –"

"I know," Archer said again. "But that doesn't make me feel better about it." He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, burying his face in his hands. "Goddammit. Goddammit, Trip, now I've got to call his parents…"

Tucker closed his eyes and tried not to think about it, but the thought of how his own parents would react crept into the back of his mind anyway. "Can't Gardner –"

"He offered," Archer said, raising his head wearily. "But it's my job. I am – I was his commanding officer."

Tucker nodded, accepting the reason. He knew he would have done the same thing, in Archer's position, and he respected the Captain for it. But still…

"Gardner's going to find a replacement," Archer said. "For now, Ensign Tanner's taking over."

A replacement. It sounded horribly wrong. A replacement for Malcolm.

"You can't replace him," Tucker said thickly, and Archer didn't argue because he understood. Another person might sit at Reed's station on the bridge, might do his job and protect the ship and offer strategic advice, but there could never really be a replacement. Reed quite simply couldn't be replaced. Tucker thought about Reed's snarky banter, his bits of wisdom that always popped up when they were most needed and least expected, and his fierce loyalty and devotion to the Enterprise and her crew. His eyes burned. "Dammit," he muttered, rubbing the palm of his hand roughly across his eyes. "Why didn't he stay closer?"

Why hadn't he, actually? It wasn't like Reed to be so careless, to wander off like he had. Why hadn't he stayed close and on the alert, as Tucker had seen him do on so many other unknown planets?

The door chime rang, and Archer raised his head, sending a glance Tucker's way before calling, "Come in."

Unexpectedly, it was Phlox, and there was a strange expression on the Denobulan's face. He held a PADD, which he set on the table in front of Archer.

"This is a full autopsy report of the body Commander Tucker brought back from the surface," he said, acknowledging Tucker with a nod.

This seemed an oddly callous way to talk about Reed, and by the slight frown on Archer's face he thought the same thing.

"Yew mean Malcolm," Tucker said, a little sharply.

"On the contrary," Phlox said softly, "I do not believe the body you retrieved from the surface belonged to Lieutenant Reed."

Archer rose to his feet with something perilously close to hope in his eyes. "Explain, Doctor."

* * *

"This is a comparison of Lieutenant Reed's DNA with that of the body Commander Tucker found," Phlox said. The three of them were in Sickbay, and Phlox had projected the information on the PADD up on a larger monitor. "The two are very similar – practically identical, in fact, except for a small marker I found here." He indicated something that Tucker couldn't distinguish from what the DNA strand was meant to look like.

"My initial DNA test confirmed a match to Lieutenant Reed," Phlox said. "Retinal scans showed the same scar pattern, and the burn scars on his arms were also identical. I didn't find anything unusual during the examination. However, as you know, the body that Commander Tucker retrieved was…severely injured. When I began to clean off the blood in preparation for a stasis chamber, I noticed something odd. Yesterday, Lieutenant Reed suffered a hypospanner cut on his left hand. I prescribed three treatments with the dermal regenerator. As yet, he had only completed two. Although there was no longer an open wound, there was a very distinct mark where the injury was – inflammation, scar tissue, and stiffness. This body has absolutely no sign of such an injury. So I took a second look at the DNA."

Phlox straightened, settling his hands behind his back. "Captain, do you remember the Lyssarian Desert Larva?"

Archer's reaction was immediate and unmistakeable. He stiffened and his eyes widened. "Yes," he said after a moment's pause, his voice rough. "I remember."

The name was vaguely familiar to Tucker too. Some years ago, he'd been seriously injured and in a coma. What had happened had never been fully explained to him, for when he asked Archer had gone quiet, looking haunted; Reed had refused to meet his eyes and muttered something about a disagreement of methodology; and Phlox had flat-out refused to discuss it with him. He had seen the body, though, the body that looked exactly like his, heard the rumours about a clone and about murder. He'd heard mention of the Lyssarian Desert Larva, though he had only a dim idea of what exactly it was.

"It's a clone?" Archer asked in a brittle voice.

"That is what I believe, Captain. This DNA marker is characteristic of the Desert Larva." He paused. "I feel the need to add, Captain, that I cannot be completely certain of this. I do not know the full extent of the sedative chemical on the human body, since I neutralized it in Crewman Novakovich. Perhaps the chemical has some kind of regenerative properties, and it could also explain the discrepancies in DNA. This body could still belong to Lieutenant Reed."

"I understand," Archer acknowledged, but Tucker could hear the hope in his voice. "Doctor, please forward a full report of your findings and all applicable data to Starfleet Medical. I will contact Admiral Gardner. Trip, help T'Pol with calibrating those scanners. If that isn't Malcolm, I mean to find out where the hell he is and who is behind this."

* * *

Reed woke to the sound of the door opening. Someone flicked on the light in the bare room, and Reed sat up, squinting at his visitor. He still ached all over, but his clothing no longer burned his skin and the migraine had faded to a dull, bearable throb.

"Feeling better, I hope?" Harris inquired.

"What did they do to me?" Reed asked. Harris waved a hand dismissively.

"A scan, of a sort. We needed to determine the full extent of the temporal anomaly's physical effects on your body."

"And it required _that_?"

"We got what we needed," Harris said, without answering the question. "We also removed trace amounts of a certain substance from your body – a substance we can use to protect the mind against the effects of a temporal anomaly."

The Zytexian perfume. Of course the Section wanted to get its hands on that. Reed wondered at the choice of words – Harris made it sound as if the chemical had been entirely eliminated from his body. Not that he would mind that, but his inability to fully grasp his former handler's meaning irked him. He was used to being able to see through Harris's smokescreens better than this.

"A vaccine against time travel, perhaps," Harris said. "You are already proving your value, Mr. Reed."

"Is that all you want from me?"

Harris laughed. "I see you're not quite recovered after all. If that was all we wanted, we wouldn't have bothered with the elaborate hoax of your apparent death."

"Of course," Reed said acerbically. "How stupid of me. I suppose you want information, too."

"I did say that when we first spoke, didn't I," Harris mused. "The fact is, Lieutenant, we've already got all the information we need. I'm sorry to disappoint you. I'm sure you would enjoy recounting all the sordid details of your adventures all over again, but we're not going to learn anything from that. We have your reports, and they do have a certain charming ring of truth in them. They are quite in character with you."

Reed willed himself not to react to the subtle taunts in Harris's words. "Then let me go back to the Enterprise." It couldn't, of course, be that easy. As Harris had just said, a simple blood sample would not call for such a ruse.

"Don't make me repeat myself," Harris said disapprovingly. "The Section isn't in the habit of going to unnecessary lengths to retrieve things it doesn't require."

The thing in question being him, Reed thought. But he'd known that all along. Harris didn't just want his medical data; as he'd said in their first conversation, he wanted _Reed_.

"Then get to the point," Reed said impatiently. "Tell me what you want so I can get it over with as soon as possible."

"So you've agreed to do whatever we want?" Harris teased.

"I don't see that I have much choice."

"You don't." Harris leaned forward, abandoning his own amusement and growing serious. "The Section has a mission for you."

Reed eyed him sceptically. "It's been years since I've been in the field."

"Are you telling me you're incapable?" Harris asked, a flicker of anger in his tone. "You know your contract to the Section, Malcolm. I hardly believe you'd allow yourself to grow soft. Surely I trained you better than that."

"Maybe I have gotten soft," Reed said. "Maybe I'm not fit for this anymore. Maybe I've forgotten what it means to be an agent of the Section."

Harris smiled darkly at him. "I don't think so. See, here's what I think, Malcolm, I think you've tried to forget. You've done everything you could to forget. You've tried to make yourself a new life, but deep inside you haven't forgotten. How could you? I trained you not to."

"Your training wasn't perfect."

"My training was exactly as it should have been," Harris said. "If it failed, it's because you weren't exactly as you should have been."

That was true enough. Reed shook his head in unconvinced denial. Harris patted him on the cheek lightly. The action was too familiar; it felt violating.

"I have work for you. But I don't want Malcolm Reed; that is useless to me. I want Blackbird back."

It was the code name he'd used, many years ago during his time under Harris. He'd been given it by another agent, one long dead now, who had told him he was 'like Poe's raven – grim, ungainly, ominous – "quoth the Raven, _Nevermore_."' The team he'd been with then had started calling him 'Blackbird' and the name had stuck. It struck at him now with the powerful compulsion of memory. Reed forced himself not to grimace.

"Blackbird is dead."

"You've tried to kill that part of yourself, haven't you?" Harris laughed. "You've tried to be an honourable man. It's a beautiful persona, I grant you. Tell me, who do you do it for? Trip? Jonathan Archer? You like them to think highly of you, yes? Or is it for Hoshi Sato? She's very lovely. I wonder what she'd think of you if she knew what you've done."

"Don't you dare talk about Hoshi," Reed snarled. Sato's name did not belong on the lips of a man such as Harris. _But you are a man such as Harris_ , his mind whispered back at him. As infuriating and painful as the older agents words were, Reed knew they were largely true. Not for the first time, he wished he had never heard of the Section. He wished he truly was the clean, respectable officer that most of the crew of the Enterprise believed him to be. Harris watched him thoughtfully.

"I see," he said at last. "But here's the problem, Malcolm. No matter how hard you try to make yourself into Lieutenant Malcolm Reed of the starship Enterprise, you'll never be him. You can't erase who you are. Blackbird is not dead; if he was, you would not have come. You would have gone to your Captain and reported everything to him. Why didn't you?"

Why hadn't he? Archer couldn't fault him when he hadn't initiated the contact with Harris. He could have recorded the entire conversation and brought it to the Captain.

But it wouldn't have ended there. Archer would never have been satisfied without a thorough explanation, not after a second incident involving Reed's murky past, and Reed would have had to come clean to him. And even though the Captain had an inkling that his tactical officer had been involved in questionable circles, the truth was an entirely different beast.

"You were protecting yourself. Your personal interests." Harris leaned forward. "Tell me, does that sound like something the noble, self-sacrificing Lieutenant Reed would do? I think not. But that is something that my Blackbird would do. Protect himself. You haven't changed. You can lie to yourself and to Archer as much as you want, but every lie you tell keeps Blackbird alive. Go ahead, try to pretend that you're something you're not. After all, you thrive on deception."

Reed gritted his teeth in helpless anger, but there was nothing he could say. After everything he had done to try to turn his life around – and in five minutes, Harris had twisted it into something filthy and corrupted. And the worst part was, the handler was right. Wasn't he? What other explanation was there? All these wasted years of trying to live a life he could be proud of. It hadn't been easy. Sometimes he'd feared that he could never consider his life without the sick twist of disgust and loathing in his gut. Now, that fear was horribly justified. He would never be anything but a fraud with blood on his hands and deception in his mouth. How could he ever have hoped to be anything else?

"Some men are made for the spotlight," Harris said gently. "Your Captain Archer, for one. But you and I are a different kind, Malcolm. We are made to live in the shadows. Ours is a different calling. You cannot change who you are." He rose to his feet. "Come. It's been too long since you've eaten. Join me for a meal. Then, it is time for you to learn your mission."

* * *

A/N: Oh, the mind games. Malcolm just can't catch a break, can he?


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own the universe or the characters. What I do own is a picture of someone I met who was dressed up as Trip for Halloween. I will unabashedly admit that I completely geeked out.

* * *

 _"Not him? Perhaps you should explain yourself, Jonathan."_ Admiral Gardner frowned at Archer. _"The DNA was identical."_

"Not quite," Archer said. "My doctor found an unusual marker in the DNA of the body we found that indicates it could be a mimetic simbiot formed by a Lyssarian Desert Larva. Are you familiar with the species?"

 _"I am,"_ Gardner assented. _"However, Starfleet medical has examined the information that your doctor sent and has found nothing to indicate that this genome was artificially replicated, or replaced in any way. Every test they ran indicates that this body does, in fact belong to Lieutenant Reed."_

"Respectfully, sir, Phlox informed me –"

 _"Jonathan."_ Gardner held up a hand to prevent argument. _"I understand how you feel, but Lieutenant Reed is dead. Finding ways to deny it isn't going to do you any good."_

"I'm not trying to deny anything," Archer said through clenched teeth. "But if there's the slightest possibility that my officer is still alive, I won't give up searching until I find him."

Gardner stared at him impassively. _"Very well,"_ he said at last. _"I'll give you forty-eight hours to search for him. If you haven't uncovered anything conclusive by then, you will give this up. Don't make me order you."_

Archer nodded grimly. _"One other thing,"_ Gardner added. _"You should know that Lieutenant Reed's parents have been informed of his death."_

"What?" Archer sat up, outraged. "Admiral! You agreed to allow me to contact them. We're not even sure that he is dead!"

 _"I made no promises, Jonathan. And I had a feeling you would find a reason to delay."_

"A reason to delay! Admiral –"

Gardner shook his head. _"Don't let emotion cloud your judgement. You have two days to start acting rational."_

The screen flicked to Starfleet's logo with a soft chirp, leaving Archer seething. "Dammit!" He smashed his fist on the desk. Porthos jumped up from where he'd been sleeping on the floor with a yelp.

"He doesn't know Phlox," Archer said to the dog, frustratedly. "And he doesn't know Malcolm. Something's wrong here, and I mean to find out what it is."

Porthos whined and wriggled. Feeling disproportionately tired and melancholy, Archer gazed out of the small viewport of his ready room. What if Gardner was right? Was he clinging to a threadbare explanation out of false hope that Reed was still alive?

"Never should have come to this planet," Archer muttered guiltily. Porthos sprang up onto his lap and licked his chin, whining. "You miss him too, buddy? Let's hope T'Pol finds a way to scan this godforsaken planet soon."

* * *

The ship _Stalagmite_ was a freighter, both in appearance and in Starfleet records. However, as far as the Section was concerned it was far more: it was a ship of war, powered by the strongest warp engines the Klingons had to offer, cloaked with Romulan technology, equipped with the cutting edge of Vulcan science instruments, and staffed with a crew of grim, silent Section agents that Reed was told 'belonged to the ship.' They weren't a part of this mission. The Stalagmite's advanced weapons systems – of which Reed was only permitted the briefest glimpse – was enough to make any self-respecting Armoury officer giddy. It also suggested that the ship was expected to encounter some formidably armed enemy.

Reed was initially curious and wary at the apparent lack of a team. Individual missions were rare and usually reserved for infiltration purposes only. Harris did not keep him in suspense for long.

"Since Jonathan Archer's rather unusual report concerning the so-called 'Anachron Incident,' the Section has been performing intensive scans for Cherenkov radiation near all Starfleet, Section, and allied holdings. The results are somewhat disconcerting." Harris displayed a star chart on the monitor of the small, sound-proofed briefing room. "You may not be familiar with this region of space. It is approximately two light years from the binary star system where you encountered the Anachron species, and is under the control of the Romulan Star Empire." The agent tapped a few buttons on his keyboard, and the star chart was overlaid with a light blue haze. Reed's attention was immediately attracted by a small planet near the edge of the screen, which glowed as brightly blue as a star.

"Yes, that is what concerns us also," Harris said, watching Reed's reaction. "We believe this planet is shielded by the same technology that cloaked the ship you found. When scanned, this planet appears to be bare and rocky, with nothing of interest. Given recent events, it seems this may be deceptive."

"You said it's in Romulan territory," Reed said. "You're working with them, I assume?" It wasn't a complete surprise that the Section would be working undercover with an obscure, little-known race. But apart from getting himself skewered on a piece of a Romulan mine once, Reed had no experience with the mysterious species. He'd been under the impression that no one knew much about the Romulans and it wasn't wise to ask, given their technological power and easily-provoked aggression. You didn't bother them, and they kept to themselves. But it was never that simple.

"We work with everyone," Harris said. "But not openly. Not with the Romulan Senate, anyway. However, we are in close contact with an organization called the Tal Shiar, which serves approximately the same service for the Romulan people as we do for the human race. They have proved quite willing to cooperate with us. In fact, they have even requested our assistance in this matter. You will be working alongside them in this operation."

That idea wasn't particularly appealing, but Reed accepted it philosophically. Extreme circumstances made for strange bedfellows. One thing still nagged at him, though.

"You said this was a threat to Earth."

"If it is a threat to the Tal Shiar," Harris said, "then it is also a threat to the Section, and to Starfleet. Starfleet is the future of Earth, make no mistake about that."

Reed looked at him doubtfully. "Lieutenant," Harris said condescendingly, "need I remind you that you are but one small cog in the great machine at work here. The Section is far more entangled than you will ever know. There are many forces at work here of which you know nothing."

Reed nodded stiff acknowledgement. He knew that was true, and he didn't want to know of those forces. There were many things it was best to be unaware of. Still, he watched Harris with slight distrust.

"I don't know much more about the Anachrons than anyone else," Reed said at last. "So why me?"

"The Romulans requested you specifically." Harris spread his hands expansively. "And why not?"

* * *

"It just doesn't make sense," Tucker mused aloud as he studied the computer monitor in front of him. "Malcolm ain't careless. He shouldn't have been so far away." He glanced over his shoulder at Archer, who studiously ignored the engineer's continued reference to Reed in the present tense. "Yew said he wasn't even supposed to be on that mission. He asked to go."

Archer was well aware of this, having repeatedly traced through a myriad of inconsistencies on his own. Hearing Tucker voice them aloud only strengthened his conviction that, whatever Admiral Gardner said, all was not as it seemed. There was something else going on, some unknown factor lurking beneath the surface. Moreover, he had a suspicion as to what it might be.

Ever since Reed's betrayal on the orders of the mysterious Harris – back during the Klingon debacle, as Archer tended to think of it – he had struggled to recover his formerly absolute trust in Reed. The Lieutenant had promised his loyalty to Archer over all else and had sworn that he would never again contact Harris. And Archer had believed him – at least, believed him enough to allow Reed to resume his position on the Enterprise.

The fact was that a large part of that willingness to give a second chance had been rooted in Archer's persuasion that no matter how Reed's actions appeared on the surface, there had been an underlying reason. Something had been compelling enough to make Reed, a man of honour, commit insubordination. Either Reed had truly believed he was doing the right thing, or whatever authority Harris had over him went far beyond mere organizational loyalty. Archer hoped it was the first. If honour had indeed been the driving force behind Reed's apparently dishonourable actions, then he could be trusted again. If not, then he would come to Harris's call the next time the mysterious Section agent wanted him. It was upon his hopes about the truth of the situation that Archer had pinned his decision to restore Reed's position.

The whole fiasco had brought to Archer's attention the fact that he knew startlingly little about his Tactical Officer. Apart from random, scattered facts that he'd picked up from various sources – mostly Reed himself – over the years, the man was a completely closed book. Archer knew that he liked pineapples, didn't like water, and was the first male member of his family in a number of generations to deviate from the tradition of service in the Royal Navy. Archer had drawn his own inferences as to why Reed had chosen not to pursue such a career, but he had not asked and Reed had not offered the information. Despite Archer's words to him in the brig, Reed had not exactly said 'a lot' about his father, or for that matter any member of his family. He'd made some offhanded remarks, some of which had even at the time come across as unduly sarcastic, and Archer had made assumptions and put the pieces together from there. Reed, he guessed, had a high regard for the Royal Navy in general and his father in particular, but had invoked his father's disapproval when he had elected to take a different career path. Reed's reaction to Archer's venomous words in the brig had as much as confirmed some of that; the rest, it seemed now, he might never know.

He had read through Reed's full personnel file after that incident, while the Lieutenant was still being held in the brig. Archer rarely read personnel files, preferring to get to know his people in person unless an issue arose and required perusal of past records. He knew first-hand that what showed up in someone's file wasn't always a good representation of their character. Both he and Tucker had been haunted for several years by an incident in their own records regarding the unauthorized launch ('absconsion' had been the word used) of a Starfleet test vessel. Archer didn't want his crew to have to worry about his opinion of them being tainted by their previous errors. However, in Reed's case he had made an exception to his rule.

But the file had been entirely unhelpful, and ultimately raised more questions than it answered. It had listed Reed's full name, birthdate, birthplace, citizenship information, and family members (one sister, younger. Parents, married. Both living.) There had been a home of record listed – one. An apartment in San Francisco. The file noted that he had leased the apartment from 2145 to 2149, meaning that the lease had begun a full four years after Reed's graduation from Starfleet Academy at the age of 24, and ended two years before the Enterprise mission. He'd apparently not lived anywhere on Earth during either of the intervening periods – but there were no records of him being off-planet, either. His record of service after graduation was equally mysterious. A few positions were mentioned in the vaguest terms, but all of them had been of short duration. He was clearly well trained and well qualified for his job, but what specifically he had been doing was not discussed. There had been a brief note mentioning "Starfleet Intelligence," which had led Archer to a dead end – a _classified_ dead end – when he tried to dig further. In short, the file told him absolutely nothing, and did so very mysteriously. It was oddly in character with the Reed he was coming to know.

But despite what Reed had done, and despite the questions raised by his strange personnel file, Archer had opted to trust him again. He hadn't questioned Reed about the file, either; he'd wanted to give the man a clean slate.

Archer was only now beginning to wonder if that trust had been misplaced.

It was ironic that Reed's apparent death had led Archer to begin doubting the man's trustworthiness. That seemed wrong. He should respect the memory of a good officer, not use the death to dredge up past mistakes. But was Reed dead? Phlox's evidence suggested not, and combined with the small inconsistencies that both he and Tucker had noticed, Archer was more than half inclined to believe that Reed might still be alive.

In which case, he was either kidnapped – or a deserter.

Rationally, Archer wasn't sure which he should prefer. He couldn't bear the thought of Reed deserting, but at the same time, how could he hope that one of his officers had been kidnapped? For the moment, he reminded himself, it didn't really matter. Either way he was responsible for finding Reed. The Lieutenant's intentions mattered little at this stage of the search.

He had to assume that Reed had been kidnapped. And if that was the case – which he hoped it was, whatever his logical mind told him – then every passing moment put Reed in more danger.

"Hm," Tucker said thoughtfully, drawing Archer's attention back to the monitor in front of them. It was Reed's personal monitor in his quarters, the only place that was likely to hold any answers. The room itself was almost disturbingly devoid of personal touches. There were no pictures, and only a few books covering a scattered and apparently random range of topics on the small shelf near the desk. "Take a look at this, Cap'n."

'This' was a graph showing a jagged line which could represent absolutely anything as far as Archer was concerned. "What am I looking at, Trip?"

"It's a graph of power used over time," Tucker explained. "Fer this particular monitor, I mean. I'm lookin' at the period of twenty-four hours before Malcolm left th' ship. Take a look here." Tucker magnified the image and pointed to a section that was noticeably elevated above the rest. "Startin' at about 2100 th' night before he left, his computer had elevated power output for just under ten minutes. That's not unusual if he was usin' it, but I wouldn't expect t' see quite such a change. I'd say he was transmitting on an encrypted channel – probably live stream, audio and video. Not much else that I've seen uses power like this."

Archer studied the screen, eyes narrowed in thought. "Did you check the transmission logs?"

"First thing I did, Captain. Nothing there. He must've deleted it." Tucker leaned back with a sigh. "Did a pretty thorough job of it, too. I couldn't get anything at all. Wonder who he was talkin' to."

Archer had a nasty feeling that he knew the answer to that. He said nothing, which made Tucker glance up at him.

"I don't know what he'd have to hide," Tucker added, sounding less convinced than his words suggested. "Maybe it had nothin' t' do with this…"

"That's possible," Archer said stiffly. He was thinking of Reed lying straight to his face, in his office no less, telling him that the weapon signatures hadn't been Klingon. Lying even after he knew he was caught. He thought of Reed's promise to never contact Harris again.

He thought of himself, ordering Reed to "talk to a friend of his." Reed had protested – not to the point of disrespect, of course, but he had been white-faced and ramrod-stiff as he left. What had he known then? An eye for an eye, perhaps?

Archer brushed away the condemning thoughts. If Reed had indeed left on an errand of Harris's doing, it had been entirely his choice. He could have come to Archer with it; but he hadn't. He'd disappeared.

Or, he was dead and all this was mere speculation.

"Cap'n," Tucker said in a very troubled voice, "does this have anything t' do with what happened while I was on th' Columbia?"

"I don't know."

"I don't know what happened, Cap'n, an' I'm not askin'. But whatever it was, he was real upset about it."

"Was he," Archer said icily. "I should hope so."

He didn't, of course. He knew all too well that he had overstepped his boundaries so far that another man might have reported him for it. How had he allowed himself to sink to personal insults? The Expanse had changed him, he knew, and not for the better. But _still_. It had been a low blow. And instead of firing back as Archer had half-hoped he would, Reed had taken it in silence. Archer knew that he'd hurt him deeply. Perhaps that, too, had been part of why he'd decided to keep Reed. The Lieutenant had certainly done wrong by him, but he'd done wrong by Reed too. Quid pro quo. An apology, of sorts.

Tucker looked like he wanted to say something sharp, but shrugged unhappily instead. "I don't know what you're thinking, Cap'n, but I'm not countin' on Malcolm still bein' alive. I know what Phlox said, but there could be an explanation fer that. Jes' before yew go getting' all mad an' self-righteous at him, remember that he could be dead. Yew wouldn't want t' go accusin' him of doin' something wrong and then find out he's…well. I think you know what I'm tryin' t' say, Cap'n."

Archer did know. He closed his eyes briefly against a twinge of remorse. What if he was wrong? What if his officer had done nothing wrong, and he was inwardly accusing him of crimes when in fact Reed really was lying dead in Sickbay?

It was a possibility he couldn't ignore, but instinct told him differently.

"Listen, Trip, there's a lot that's gone on with Malcolm that you don't know the details of. You saw part of it when you came back from the Columbia. I can't tell you what happened. Suffice it to say that he got involved in some…questionable things in the past, and one of those came back to bite him. And I know I've no certain way of knowing, but this – this would fit just a little too well."

"If you say so, Cap'n," Tucker said quietly. "It's jes' that you've been real hard on him since then. I'm not sure he deserves that."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Archer snapped, on edge with guilt and uncertainty. He immediately wanted to apologize, but he didn't. The days when he could be open with Tucker – when he could admit that he was flying blind and needed another point of view – had long gone. Another sacrifice to the Expanse. He straightened and turned for the door, feeling more than hearing Tucker's stiff silence. "Keep looking. Let me know if you find anything."

"Yes sir," Tucker answered softly. His voice was unreadable.

Archer left feeling old and ill. It was at times like this, he thought, when he wondered what his life could have been if he'd never taken this post.

* * *

"I expect you to be on your best behaviour," Harris told Reed. There was a note of amusement in his tone, as if the idea or Reed not being on his best behaviour was ridiculous. "The Romulans are a proud people, and if you offend them I won't be able to cover for you. This isn't Starfleet, Lieutenant."

"Right." As if he didn't know that. Ever since he'd awakened two days ago on the Klingon ship, Reed had been gradually sliding back into his old role as an agent of the Section. It had been far too easy; but if he ever wanted to return to the Enterprise, he could not afford to let that trouble him. There would be time for self-reflection and self-loathing after all this was over. That too was familiar: In a mission, personal feelings were a risk that had to be postponed, if not eliminated.

As soon as they docked with the Romulan vessel, Harris hurried Reed down to the airlock. Reed got the feeling that Harris didn't want the encounter to last any longer than it had to. Either that, or he wanted Reed to think that. The former tactical officer had long ago learned never to take the Agent's words or actions at face value.

Four armed Romulans stood inside the airlock, which sealed closed behind Reed and Harris. Reed was instantly on high alert, though Harris did not appear surprised. The door in front of them slid open, and a Romulan man dressed in regal black stepped in, flanked by two more guards.

"Harris." Through the Universal translator, his voice carried a slight accent. "You have brought the prisoner?"

Prisoner? Reed's uneasiness increased tenfold.

"Captain Keyar, a pleasure to do business with you again. This is Lieutenant Reed."

The Romulan, Keyar, studied Reed openly and looked unimpressed. He nodded to one of the guards. "Take him." The two guards grabbed Reed roughly by the arms.

"What is this?" Reed spat at Harris. The man smiled at him.

"I told you, Malcolm, I can still use you. And you are helping the Section." He turned to Keyar. "I hope you intend to hold up your end of the bargain, Captain?"

"I scanned your ship," Keyar said with a nod. "I see that you have come prepared to take what you came for if I do not. But you have no reason to worry, Harris. It is on a shuttle to your ship as we speak."

Reed understood, then, the full extent of the betrayal. He was not to work with the Romulans; he was being traded, like a piece of technology, in exchange for something the Romulans had that Harris wanted. He was, quite literally, being sold out.

"You bastard," he hissed, covering his fear with anger. "You bloody bastard, Harris. What the hell have you done?"

"Believe me, Malcolm, I take no pleasure in this," Harris said quite seriously. "But the simple fact remains that I need you less than I need what the Romulans have to offer. It's business. You know the Section has no room for personal attachments. I am simply doing the logical thing, the thing which will help the Section the most. The right thing."

Reed stood silent and furious and terrified, knowing there was no point in arguing. He remembered the code of the Section; though he wanted to deny it, there was an element of truth in Harris's words. There was nothing personal in this. That did nothing to make his present situation more palatable.

"Try not to kill him," Harris said to Keyar. "I'd like him back when you're done with him."

Keyar smiled politely, exposing sharp canine teeth. "Of course. But I'm afraid he won't be of much use to you or anyone else once we're done with him."

Harris shrugged dispassionately. "Well," he said, "I'd like to get back whatever is left."

* * *

"I want to speak with Harris," Archer said wrathfully as soon as Admiral Gardner's face materialized on the computer screen before him.

Gardner looked startled, perhaps as much at the tone and manner of the request as at the words. _"To…who?"_

"Harris," Archer repeated. "Of Section 31."

Gardner blinked, nonplussed but with annoyance growing in his expression as his surprise faded. _"Captain, I suggest you take a moment to consider your attitude."_

Archer resisted the urge to snap back. He took a long, calming breath and reminded himself that there was a chance, however outside, that Gardner truly didn't know who Harris was.

"I apologize for my hastiness, Admiral," he lied. It was as much of a concession as he felt capable of making. "I would like to speak with Harris. I believe you are in contact with him."

 _"Who is this Harris?"_ Gardner asked. Archer did not miss his uncomfortable readjustment in his chair.

"Harris is an agent of Section 31. You're familiar with the Section, I presume?"

 _"Captain, please refrain from such discussion,"_ Gardner said agitatedly. _"This channel is not top-secret encrypted."_

"So you do know," Archer said, vindicated.

 _"I have no idea who this Harris is,"_ Gardner insisted. Archer couldn't tell if he was lying. _"Jonathan, what's this about? I got called out of a meeting with the Section Commander for this. It had better be something important."_

"I believe Harris has something to do with Malcolm's disappearance," Archer started, but the Admiral held up a hand to stop him.

 _"Jonathan, please. Listen to yourself."_ He sighed and assumed a sympathetic tone. _"I know the loss of Lieutenant Reed has been very difficult for you, but you must compose yourself. I understand your desire to hold out hope. However, all available medical data suggests that Lieutenant Reed is dead. I gave you two days to search. That's almost up, and I won't have you using wild flights of fantasy to overrule my orders."_

"Doctor Phlox found evidence that the body found on the surface of the planet was a clone," Archer said sharply. "Re-examine your data, Admiral, I urge you."

 _"I already had the doctors examine it again, after your insistence that their conclusions were incorrect. Two different teams, both well-informed on the genetic markers of the Lyssarian Desert Larva. You see, Captain, if there was even the slightest chance that Lieutenant Reed was still alive, I would be as eager as you to find him. Unfortunately, the evidence leaves no room for any debate. Starfleet doctors found no sign to suggest that this body was a clone."_

Archer seethed in silent frustration, wondering how Starfleet doctors could be so blind. He himself had needed the genetic discrepancy pointed out, but it had been clear enough once he understood what he was looking for. It should have been even more obvious to trained doctors. A nasty suspicion slid uninvited into the back of his mind. What if Gardner's doctors were agents of the Section? Moreover, what if Gardner himself was working with Harris? He could be lying straight to Archer's face and the Captain would never even know. He watched the Admiral distrustfully on the monitor.

 _"In any case, what makes you think that this 'Harris' has anything to do with Lieutenant Reed?"_

Archer almost said 'previous experience,' but didn't. The episode in which Reed had been thrown in the brig, as well as his later meeting with Harris at Archer's request, had both gone slightly…under-documented. Few enough people had known about it that with some assistance from T'Pol, Archer had managed to document the first episode in true but minimally revealing terms, and the second encounter with Harris had remained entirely off the record. Then, too, despite the circumstantial evidence from Reed's personal computer which, along with personal experience, provided a persuasive argument for Harris's involvement, Archer realised that he had very little which would, to the Admiral, constitute a convincing suggestion of untoward activity. He stumbled for an explanation, but was mercifully interrupted when Gardner looked up and called "come in," presumably in answer to some knock. Someone spoke to him, voice muffled by distance from the microphone.

 _"Yes. Yes, of course. Tell him I'm on my way."_ He turned back to Archer. _"I'm needed in that meeting, Captain. Please consider what I've said. If you find anything certain, I will of course be happy to review it. But as the facts stand, I suggest you accustom yourself to the idea of gaining a new Tactical Officer. Don't allow your judgement to become unduly clouded by emotion. You have your orders, Jonathan. Your two days are nearly up."_

"Yes, sir," Archer acknowledged, filled with helpless frustration. Even as they spoke, Reed could be dying somewhere on the planet thousands of kilometres below the safety of the Enterprise. In fact, he could be anywhere at all.

The Admiral's connection ended, but instead of being replaced by Starfleet's standard communique terminated screen, the view of Gardner's office was directly replaced with another communications link. The man staring out of Archer's screen was unfamiliar to him.

 _"Hello, Captain Archer. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. My name is Harris."_

* * *

 _"I understand you've been trying to contact me,"_ Harris went on, when Archer was too stunned to respond immediately. _"Unlike your channel with Admiral Gardner, this is a top-secret encrypted channel. In fact it's quite a bit more than that; you should be aware that as soon as this link is terminated, all records of it, of any kind, anywhere in your database, will be permanently and irretrievably deleted."_

"Unauthorised tapping of private official communications is punishable under the Starfleet Code of Justice," Archer said stiffly, buying himself a few seconds to regain his severely shaken equilibrium.

 _"Captain, I don't think that's what you wanted to discuss with me. If it is, then I am sincerely disappointed."_ Harris wasn't smiling, but he looked amused. Archer cut right to the chase.

"What have you done with my Tactical Officer?"

 _"He's not dead, if that's what you're asking."_ Archer felt a thrill of relief, followed instantly by anxiety. He was tremendously glad that Reed was alive – at least, if Harris was speaking the truth – but this opened up a whole new can of worms that Archer had no idea how to tackle. _"And he wasn't taken against his will,"_ the agent added. Archer's stomach knotted with cold resignation. If what Harris said was true – and given that all traces of the communication would be deleted, Archer couldn't see what motive he would have in lying – then Reed had broken his promise of loyalty, deserted, and could potentially be accused of treason. Reed had betrayed him. Again.

"I hardly imagine you expect me to believe you," he said coldly. Harris shrugged.

 _"It is of little consequence to me whether or not you do believe me, but he did come willingly and knowingly. Malcolm's word, Captain, may not be as binding as you supposed."_

"I trust my crew," Archer informed him unequivocally. Although generally accurate, it was in context a bald-faced lie. He knew what Harris said was true. He could feel it. He knew Reed had lied, or at the very least broken his word.

 _"Very well."_ Harris smiled as if Archer's untruths were as transparent as they felt. _"You have an excellent doctor, by the way. I had anticipated at least a week before he discovered that the body was a clone."_

Clone murder, Archer thought. Premeditated murder? He felt sick, knowing that he was no better than Harris. The reasons for committing such an act hardly mattered. No matter how noble his intent to save Tucker had been, all those months ago, there was still no justification.

 _"It's a shame your doctor won't be commended for his sharp eye,"_ Harris continued. _"We modified the data he sent before it got to Starfleet Medical, of course. It would be very awkward if Starfleet officially discovered such an operation."_

"You did what?" Archer barked, enraged. "That data –"

 _"– was the only substantial proof of your claim, yes. But it makes little difference. You wanted permission to search for Malcolm longer; now that you know he came to us willingly, you have no cause to search at all."_

"You haven't done your research on me very well. I'm not going to stop looking for Malcolm just because you claim he went willingly. As far as I'm concerned, he was kidnapped."

Harris looked entirely unconcerned. _"Suit yourself, Captain. You will not find him. He is long gone from that little planet you're still searching. He's far out of your reach – and mine, for that matter. Not even I could get him back now."_

"Where is he?"

 _"If I told you that,"_ Harris said reproachfully, _"I would risk starting an interstellar war."_

* * *

A/N: I'm sorry. I wish I could say it's going to get better.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: The parts that make sense aren't mine.

* * *

Archer lowered his throbbing head into his hands and wondered, for at least the twentieth time in the last hour, what the hell he was supposed to do now. After his obscure comment about an interstellar war, Harris had refused to answer further queries and shortly terminated the link, which had yielded the promised result. There was no record, anywhere, of a communications log. Archer had spent the better part of an hour searching and could find no sign that his entire conversation with the mysterious agent had been anything but purely imaginary. It hadn't been, of course, he knew that; but proving it would be a different matter and would probably cast doubts on his mental health and, at the very least, upon his fitness for command.

He considered his options.

In four hours, the Enterprise was scheduled to depart this wretched little planet and head for a rendezvous site with a Vulcan vessel carrying his new Tactical Officer. Reed's body – or rather, the body of Reed's clone – would be transferred to the Vulcan vessel for transportation back to Earth.

That had given Archer a fleeting glint of hope. If the clone's body was brought back to Earth, then surely Starfleet medical would detect the genetic anomalies upon examination…common sense had chimed in a moment later, crushing that hope with the reminder that if the Section had destroyed evidence once, they would not hesitate to do so again. Archer was under no illusions that the clone's corpse would reach Earth in any kind of examinable state, if it reached Earth at all.

The rendezvous was in nine days, which gave Archer exactly that long to figure out what to do next. Although he didn't know to what extent he could trust Harris's claims, he was at least adequately convinced that Reed was no longer on this planet. He felt no compunctions, therefore, in leaving it, and because he had no clues as to where to begin a search for his missing officer, he had no good reason, even in his own judgement, to not make for the assigned location. It was only after the rendezvous that his course of action became unclear.

Therein lay the greatest problem. Not only could he not convince Gardner that Reed was still alive or that Harris had been somehow involved in this debacle, but even if he should decide to go against orders to search for Reed, he had absolutely nothing to go off of. In addition, he had the uneasy feeling that his recent conversations with Gardner had not endeared him to the Admiral, and the possibility of being relieved of command should he show any further signs of disobedience weighed heavily on Archer's shoulders. Should he be removed from his position, the chances of locating Reed would become even slimmer.

Under the circumstances, Archer had to admit to himself, the likelihood of ever seeing Reed again was close to zero.

He briefly considered the idea of taking the Enterprise straight back to Earth, rendezvous be damned, and bursting into Starfleet Medical directly, with the clone's body in tow. While appealing, the thought didn't pan out on analysis. It was unthinkable that Section 31, based on the nature of its work, wouldn't have infiltrators in Starfleet Medical. Any real information about the clone would be instantly and easily suppressed or destroyed; and that was assuming Archer could even get the body into Starfleet headquarters. Every ship in the system would be hunting him down on suspicion of madness or treason long before he reached Earth. At best, he'd be discharged from Starfleet altogether; at worst, incarcerated. As vindicating as his idea was, it stood no chance of success.

The fact was that between them, Harris and Gardner had him very effectively backed into a corner. Archer massaged his aching temples gently. He didn't like being backed into corners, and part of the reason he'd had some success as Captain of the Enterprise revolved around exactly how proficient he was at removing himself from such tight spots. Unfortunately, this particular corner seemed to have more walls than he did ideas.

Beyond even that was the fact that Reed had left of his own accord. Archer hadn't needed Harris's confirmation to lead him to that conclusion. Reed's loyalty had been suspect since he had first lied about the Klingon weapons signatures, and the circumstantial evidence available was more than enough to lead Archer to believe that his absence was voluntary.

Archer tried to analyse his reasons for wanting to pursue Reed. Surely it was his duty as a Starfleet officer to retrieve a missing crew member; but according to Starfleet, Reed was officially dead, and with that death had also died Archer's legal responsibility as his commanding officer. Regardless of what Archer knew, he couldn't legitimately go after Reed under the pretence of Starfleet's authority.

Concern for Reed's safety and wellbeing, then? Certainly it was a major consideration. But, once again, if he had left voluntarily, then by doing so the Lieutenant had given unspoken consent to be exposed to whatever dangers he might potentially face at Harris's hands.

Unhappily, Archer had to admit that at least a considerable element of his intense desire to find Reed was a combination of anger and the betrayal he felt. He wanted to see Reed's face when he realised just how badly he'd screwed up; and he wanted to know _why_ he'd done it. Why, after swearing his loyalty in no uncertain terms?

Even to Archer, those didn't sound like good reasons to disregard direct orders and launch off on a wild goose chase that would inevitably yield no results.

Besides, he told himself, he apparently didn't know Reed nearly as well as he'd thought. Perhaps everything he'd ever known about the man was a carefully crafted façade. Would he even care about what he had done, about the trust he had broken? If Harris was to be fully believed, then perhaps not.

Archer groaned softly. He wished he could call upon Tucker or T'Pol for help, but he already knew what T'Pol's answer would be – that it was, under the circumstances, illogical to attempt further search – and the days when he could confide in Tucker had waned. That was his own fault, of course; he'd allowed the Expanse to change him. He'd compromised his morals and grown more ruthless, far more prepared to pull rank at the slightest provocation. He'd steadily driven Tucker away and their friendship was now extremely shaky at best, especially with his recent unwarranted sharp words to the engineer. In any case, this was a decision no one but he could make. And, at least for the moment, he had little choice in the matter.

Sometimes, Archer mourned, the right thing to do…was also the wrong thing.

He ran a hand through his hair to smooth it before walking out onto the bridge. Alpha shift was on again. He wondered if they'd ever left. By the acute weariness in all the faces except T'Pol's, he doubted that any of them had been off the bridge for more than a few hours in the last two days.

"T'Pol, recall the search parties." He spoke softly. His mouth felt dry and numb. "Travis, lay in a course for the rendezvous point with the Vulcans and prepare to break orbit. Hoshi, please open a ship-wide channel." He walked over to the communications array and waited for her nod of confirmation.

"Crew men and women of the USS Enterprise, this is your Captain, Jonathan Archer, speaking." He had never been so formal in an announcement before. "I am sure by now you have heard many rumours concerning an attack on a particular crew member. I regret to inform you that Lieutenant Malcolm Reed has died of injuries sustained from an encounter with a semi-intelligent species on the planet we are currently orbiting. Our efforts to investigate his death have been unsuccessful. We have been unable to locate any members of that species. Later this evening I will be sending a written memorandum detailing the circumstances and our efforts more fully. I will also provide details to several temporary changes in the chain of command.

"Starfleet command has ordered us to rendezvous in nine days with a Vulcan vessel, which will bring us a replacement for the position of Tactical Officer and transport Lieutenant Reed's remains back to his family on Earth. We will break orbit within the next three hours.

"I appreciate your continued service in this difficult time. Please do not hesitate to reach out to one another to provide and receive support. If you require temporary relief from duty, please coordinate a replacement through your chain of command; again, you will receive clarification on that very soon. However, I must stress the importance of maintaining efficiency and readiness. I'm sure you all know that Lieutenant Reed would say the same thing." The words tasted bitter in Archer's mouth. "Thank you for your attention. In thirty seconds, we will commence a moment of respectful silence in honour of Lieutenant Reed. All non-critical systems on the ship will power down for sixty seconds. Please use this time to remember him and reflect on his honourable service and sacrifice.

"Archer out."

He nodded at T'Pol to begin the power-down sequence. The comfortable hum of the Enterprise faded slightly and the lights flicked out, leaving the bridge illuminated only by the faint lights of dimmed critical systems controls running on emergency power.

Archer thought about Reed as he had first met him, reserved yet eager. How much of that had been real? Had he known, even back then, that he was simply loaning himself to the Enterprise? He thought of all the times he'd seen Reed sitting at the tactical station, just waiting to set off some fireworks if any impudent alien should fix its sights on the Starfleet vessel as a prize. He thought about Reed's fierce devotion to the crew. He remembered how Reed's staff had always talked about him – joking about him, occasionally, but only ever with respect and admiration in their eyes.

He thought about Reed's pale face as he lied about the weapons signatures, lied though he knew he was already caught. He thought of his own abhorrent verbal attack using Reed's family. How much of that reaction had been feigned? For that matter, how much of what Reed had told him about himself and his family was even true? Was anything the man had ever said more than another layer of paint on the mask of his identity? He thought of the last time he'd seen Reed, requesting to join the away team as if it were the most natural thing in the world. What if Archer himself had suspected then that something was amiss? What if he'd simply refused the request?

The lights flicked back on, making Archer blink. The Enterprise's familiar hum swelled back to its normal level. Archer raised his head and straightened. Beside him, Sato sat rigidly upright, her posture the image of Starfleet professionalism. Tears ran unchecked down her face. Archer couldn't even bring himself to offer consolation. How could he, when anything he said would ring hollow in his own ears?

 _Why, Malcolm?_

He would hunt to the ends of the galaxy if he had anything to go on. But at least for the moment, his search was dead in the water.

* * *

Reed did not resist as he was propelled roughly through the Romulan ship by two guards. There was no point whatsoever in struggling. Even supposing he did escape, there was nowhere to run. His mind still reeled with Harris's betrayal. More than hatred for Harris, he felt anger at himself. He should have known that the agent would sell him out eventually. He had seen it happen before – not quite so blatantly, granted, but he still should have known better than to think Harris really intended to send him on a legitimate mission after so many years without re-training. But he hadn't. He'd been gullible. Harris had called and Reed had come running like a dog at its master's bidding, blind to the danger and deception at work, ignoring his greater loyalty to Archer because…why? Why had he broken his word to the Captain?

Reed tried to tell himself that he hadn't had a choice, but it wasn't true. Harris had offered no choice, but that didn't mean there had not been a choice to make.

 _You were protecting yourself,_ Harris had said. _You haven't changed. You thrive on deception._

Reed had been blindfolded before stepping out of the airlock. The point of that eluded him. He was their prisoner, with essentially no chance of escape, and if Keyar's words to Harris were to believe, anything he did see wouldn't be of much use. Probably the Romulans intended to leave him with permanent brain damage when they were done with him, if they left him alive at all. He did not trust Keyar's assurance to Harris that he would be kept alive. Rather than a security precaution, the blindfold was most likely a method of intimidation, the first of many steps to subjugate his will. Covering his eyes wasn't going to work, Reed told himself with false confidence. He wasn't worried by not seeing where he was going.

He tried to pretend that he wasn't afraid of what would come next, either.

His skin crawled with cold he was dropped unceremoniously into a seated position on hard, chilly metal. Tight straps secured him around the ankles, waist, and wrists. He had been tied down entirely too often in the last several days, Reed thought grimly. He felt hard hands probing the inside of his elbow, and before he could ascertain what was being done there came the sharp prick of a needle. A blood draw? If so, it seemed to last a long time. In the darkness of the blindfold, Reed was unable to judge whether or not he was growing dizzy from loss of blood. He also had no way to mark time, which was even more disconcerting. When he started counting out the seconds by tapping the fingers of the arm not being milked for blood on the side of the chair, his forefinger was seized without warning and bent backwards far enough to make him gasp with pain.

The Romulans did not speak to him. He heard occasional snatches of conversation, but they did not wear the translators that Keyar had used to communicate with Harris, and as a result the words were meaningless. There were times when he thought some of their words were directed at him, or were at least about him, but he never had the chance to respond. Always the risk of speaking unsolicited was too great. He knew better than to set himself a precedent of speaking before the Romulans. If he spoke to them once he would surely speak again. Better to hold himself to a policy of silence and hope that he could still enforce it under interrogation.

He wondered what Harris expected of him. Surely Harris would not have handed him over if he'd thought Reed capable of giving up any information he didn't want in the hands of the Romulans. On the other hand, what if he had simply expected Reed to resist – either from loyalty to his handler, or out of principle? Reed doubted that. Harris never left anything to chance, and it was clear he no longer placed the same trust in Reed that he once had.

On the other hand, Reed's distrust of the Romulans ran deeper even than the last few hours? minutes? days? in their custody had fostered. The Romulan Star Empire had threatened to destroy the Enterprise once, and it was a particularly unpleasant memory for Reed because he'd been the one pinned to the outside of the starship's hull by a Romulan mine. In fact he'd pulled out his air hose in an effort to force Archer to take the Enterprise to the safety provided by warp speed.

 _You've been manipulating Archer all along,_ he could almost hear Harris saying.

Perhaps it was because of his association between the Romulans and a threat to the Enterprise that Reed wanted to resist. It was ridiculous to think that whatever information he divulged or refused to would have any direct, immediate impact on the Enterprise, but the thought of giving his captors whatever information they sought felt like a violation of the trust Archer and the crew of the Enterprise had placed in him.

How ironic. As if he hadn't already violated that trust beyond any redemption.

The metal chair moved, startling Reed. He felt the back slowly lowering into a lying position, and with no visual perspective it felt like he was being arched painfully backward long before the adjustment stopped. The arms of the chair slid down and the leg support lifted, effectively converting the chair into a table. He felt it moving, or imagined he did. Silence fell among the Romulans. Reed felt his heart beating double time from both blood loss and the renewed surging of adrenaline. What was happening now? A sharp prick in the inside of his elbow alerted him that the needle had been removed.

The blindfold was pulled away, letting in light that pricked painfully against Reed's eyes, which had become unused to any illumination. He could not at first open his eyes beyond a slit. He saw and felt the shadow of someone moving close to his head, and a hypospray was discharged into his neck.

He knew immediately that he had been drugged in some way. Reed winced at the alienness of the sensation, for it was like nothing he had ever received in a medical facility or elsewhere. His pulse increased and he found himself panting for breath. This time, the symptoms were not primarily due to fear. He gripped unsuccessfully at the flat metal surface beneath his hands in a vain effort to alleviate the sense that he was falling. The green tint to the light around him lent an ethereal touch to his surroundings.

"Can you understand me?"

One of the Romulans was speaking to him in English. It took Reed several heartbeats to process the words. He found it immensely curious to hear his own language in such a foreign place, and gaped blankly up at the alien face. A hand slapped roughly against the side of his head, prompting a volley of angry protests in the Romulan language from the English-speaking voice. Reed understood from the Romulan's instant switch between languages that it was actually speaking English rather than using a translator. He wondered where it had learned a human language. From the Section, perhaps? Reed's thoughts grew confused, distracted by the sting on his face where he had been struck. It had felt a dull blow initially, but whether because of the drug or some other cause, he now felt that he was being pricked sharply with a host of invisible pins.

"Do you know where you are?"

The Romulan was back. At least, Reed supposed it must be a Romulan. He was growing less certain of that with every word of English that it spoke. Maybe this was a human in disguise. Maybe it was one of Harris's agents testing him. Reed's understanding of the situation was slowly dissolving. He tried to focus his mind. Was this an interrogation? He was being questioned. He was tied. Harris? He had seen the agent recently, he knew. Some training exercise of the Section's devising? He pulled tentatively at his bindings, but they held firm and after a few seconds of numbness his tugging brought to life the same sharp pricking pain that was just beginning to fade from his face.

A bright light flashed directly into Reed's eyes and he recoiled away from it until his eyelids were forcibly pried open to allow the unwelcome intrusion of light. He heard voices discussing him and imagined he could almost understand them. They were speaking English, surely? Why could he not grasp their meaning? Perhaps it was Phlox and Archer, having a grim consultation about his health. Keeping their voices down so he couldn't hear and interject. Why was he in Sickbay? Had he been injured?

"I'm fine, Captain," he told the shadowy Archer. "There's nothing wrong with me." He had difficulty hearing his own voice. Phlox came to the side of the bed.

"Can you understand what I'm saying?"

He spoke in an odd accent and didn't seem to have heard or understood his patient. Reed was struck with the sudden impression that he was the one speaking unintelligibly, not the Doctor and the Captain. He made an effort to regain coherence.

"Yes."

"Do you know what's happening to you?"

"I'm fine," Reed told him in puzzled annoyance. "Let me go to the bridge."

"You aren't on your ship."

What an odd thing to say. Reed blinked slowly up at the figure above him. It wasn't Phlox. The face was different: smoother, more Vulcan, with a heavy ridge across the forehead. This was all too strange.

"Who are you?"

Even he could tell that the words did not come out as he intended, but rather as a stream of disjointed syllables that made no more sense to him than to the creature looking down at him. Not-Phlox looked up and said something in a different language to the others in the room. Reed rolled his head to the side to see who he was talking to. The greenish light was enough to see by, but a pale mist obscured Reed's vision. He couldn't make out the figures.

"Please," he tried again. "Just let me go to the bridge."

There was sound, and the touch of something on his face. Reed was too confused and disoriented to react. He was falling again, falling into a fog that blotted out both sound and sight.

* * *

"Yew can't do this, Cap'n."

Tucker glared across the ready room table at Archer with anger born of desperation. He'd been horrified to hear the Captain announce over the ship-wide intercom that Reed was dead, when he knew so much to the contrary. Archer had shortly afterward summoned him, along with T'Pol and Phlox, into the ready room.

"It's not up to me." Archer looked extremely weary.

"Cap'n, Malcolm's alive! Yew can't just – leave him!"

"What would you have me do?" Archer snapped. "Ignore Admiral Gardner's direct orders and start a search – where? Where would you suggest we start looking?" He dropped his head into his hands as if the sharp reply had drained the last of the energy out of him.

"The Captain is correct," T'Pol interjected. "We have no evidence of where Lieutenant Reed is. Trying to search for him would be illogical."

"That's not all," Archer said, shooting a grateful glance at his First Officer. "I believe Lieutenant Reed's departure was not involuntary."

"What d'yew mean?" Tucker was incensed. "Are yew accusin' him of desertion?"

"Yes," Archer said simply, taking the wind from Tucker's sails. He looked up at his three senior officers. "I'm sure you all remember what happened back when we had to do the high-warp transfer with Commander Tucker – or at least, you've heard rumours," he added in Phlox's direction. The Denobulan nodded.

"Yew put Malcolm in th' brig," Tucker said, a hint of accusation in his tone.

"I did." Archer sighed. Even now, he still wondered if it had been the right thing to do. He'd been too angry at the time to get a proper explanation, which Reed had seemed unwilling to give anyway. "Lieutenant Reed lied to me about the weapons signatures found on the remains of the Rigelian ship that took Phlox from Earth. He knowingly hid the fact that they were Klingon."

Tucker looked thrown off guard. "But…why?"

"I wish I could explain his motives," Archer said grimly. "I can only tell you that he acted on the orders of a man named Harris, a former employer of his. I allowed Lieutenant Reed to retain his position provided he never again contact Harris. He agreed and pledged his loyalty to Starfleet." _To me_. "I took him at his word because he had never lied to me before." _That I know of._ "Apparently I should not have. Trip, when you told me that an encrypted communication had been made from his computer, I immediately suspected Harris. I confronted Gardner about Harris." That hadn't been his most brilliant move. "He claimed not to know anything about him. Then Harris contacted me directly."

Archer met Tucker's eyes squarely. "Malcolm left willingly, Trip."

"Yer gonna believe the word of this Harris person?" Tucker demanded.

"Goddammit Trip, _think_ about it," Archer growled. "He asked to go on the away mission. He intentionally let himself become separated from the rest of the team. Does that sound like coincidence?" He paused, frustrated by how weak his arguments sounded when spoken. He knew Reed had left voluntarily; but, spoken aloud, his evidence sounded unconvincing. "I believe what Harris said. Malcolm disobeyed orders and lied to me once. I don't find it so implausible that he did it again."

"Well I do," Tucker started hotly, but T'Pol spoke over him.

"Commander, whether Lieutenant Reed left willingly is a largely immaterial question. It is impossible to attempt a search when we have no evidence whatsoever to suggest where he may be."

Archer disagreed about Reed's voluntariness being irrelevant, but he needed all the support he could get. "Another thing you're forgetting, Trip – if I disobey Gardner's direct orders, even for what I think is a good reason, I'll be relieved of command. Then there's even less chance of finding Malcolm, because even if some evidence of where he went did come to light, we couldn't pursue it. I can't just commit mutiny on the off chance that we'll find one person in an entire galaxy, with no idea where to begin looking."

Archer could tell that Tucker still disagreed, but some of the fight had gone out of him. "But we can't just abandon him."

"Commander, we are not 'abandoning' anyone," T'Pol said. "I am quite sure that if any new evidence surfaces, Captain Archer will find a way to pursue it. However, for the moment, he is making the only possible choice."

"If you have a better suggestion, I'd love to hear it," Archer added to Tucker, more needlingly than was perhaps entirely warranted. The engineer didn't answer.

"None of what we've discussed leaves this room," Archer said. "Is that understood? No one outside of the four of us is to know that Malcolm is still alive."

There was a muted agreement from around the table. "Very well. You're all dismissed."

He lowered his face into his hands, exhausted, as they left. Phlox hung back.

"Captain, are you well?"

Archer raised his head slowly. "I'm fine, Phlox. Why?"

"You seem unusually irritable," the doctor said. "I understand this is a stressful time. I'm sure T'Pol would be willing to take command for a day or two if you need to take a short leave."

'Stressful' didn't begin to cover it. Archer shook his head, knowing that relinquishing command at a time like this, even temporarily, was out of the question. "I'm just tired," he said dismissively.

* * *

Reed did not know when he had woken, and for a while he was not even sure if he had.

He could hear nothing. Something malleable and slightly itchy was wrapped around his face: he was blindfolded again. He was in some very small space, and the walls crushed in on him oppressively. He was folded into a painfully cricked ball. The air was moist and stale, warm with his body heat.

Reed felt carefully around with his hands – as far as he could move them, which was not much – and encountered the ceiling of the compartment scant inches above his head. It crushed down on his shoulder, holding him in his awkward hunched position. He tried to readjust, but the small box was too cramped and the inability to move sent bright jolts of terror through him.

Reed forced himself to remain still. _Don't struggle. Relax._ He panted shallowly, the narrow walls curling him up and preventing him from taking a deep breath. Had the walls grown closer in the last few minutes? Were they slowly crushing in on him? In a panic he wriggled one hand up to his face and clawed at the cloth wrapped around his head until it came off. He opened his eyes.

Complete blackness greeted his sight. It was as if he had not removed the blindfold at all. Reed blinked several times, feeling his eyelids move but unable to notice any visual difference. He moved his fingers directly before his eyes and saw nothing. Had he been blinded? Blind and left to die in a slowly crushing chamber with the air going bad around him. Reed heard a strange sound, like a low groan, and it took him far too long to realise the source of the sound was himself.

He was panicking. That would do absolutely no good.

He still had his hearing, he reminded himself. He managed to get a hand against his face once more and could find no aberrations in the skin around his eyes. Nor did they hurt, as he imagined they should if they had been injured. Most likely his eyes were fine and it was just very dark. The walls were not closing in, he told himself firmly. It was his mind playing tricks on him because he couldn't see.

He realised he was tense and shaky, covered in a cold sweat. With a physical effort, he began to relax every muscle in turn, starting with his feet and concentrating on the task. When he had finished he was slightly calmer, though his heart still beat a wild tattoo inside his ribcage.

His back and neck ached abominably with the forced cricked position. Cautiously, Reed tried to adjust to a more comfortable position. There was no space to do so. The suppressed movement triggered an overwhelming urge to struggle, instantly undoing the relaxation he had forced on himself. Reed gave up the effort to get more comfortable and started the relaxation technique over again.

"It's just a meditation exercise," he said softly, aloud. His voice sounded hollow and scared in the narrow space, but it reassured him of at least one of his senses.

He settled his breathing into a pattern. In four counts, hold four counts, out four counts, hold. Repeat. He continued until he had evened his breathing out enough to calm his mind out of provoking the feeling of suffocation.

"Just a new kind of training," he told himself. The sound of his own voice was just the slightest bit comforting, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. He tried to distract himself with thoughts of the Enterprise. Somewhere, they were looking for him. Archer would not give up.

 _Archer thinks you're dead._

Reed forced the thought away, arguing back against it. Maybe the clone's body hadn't been found. Maybe it had, and had somehow prompted suspicion. Maybe the Enterprise had picked up traces of the Klingon vessel and had pursued it.

 _There's no one coming._

The darkness disoriented him and he shut his eyes to block it out. Now that he was making an effort to think, Reed could feel the aftereffects of some intoxicating substance in his mind. It was difficult to maintain any thought. He could distantly remember Harris telling Keyar _I'd like to get back whatever is left_ , but the memories of green light and blurred faces that assailed him when he tried to construct what had happened afterward remained distant. Beyond an understanding that he must be in the custody of Romulans, he didn't know where he was or what had been done to him.

Reed fixed his mind as firmly as he could on the Enterprise. His ship – it would come for him. Wouldn't it?

It had to.

* * *

A/N: Yeah...I'm a sadist.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: No people, places, or things are mine. Only a few plot elements here and there.

A/N: Parts of this chapter may be confusing to read, but hopefully you'll have a vague idea of what's happening. All of the parts that are unclear now should be explained in time.

* * *

Tucker stood by the airlock at which the Vulcan ship was currently docking. He felt stuffed and strange in his dress uniform. It had been so long since he'd worn it that he had almost forgotten how unpleasant it was in comparison with the pliable fabric of his normal duty uniform.

He wasn't sure why Archer had been so adamant about their little welcoming party being such a formal occasion. If it was out of feigned respect for Reed's 'remains,' which were to be transferred to the Vulcan ship, then Tucker thought that was an absurd bit of illogic. The body wasn't really Reed's, but even if it had been, the last thing the pragmatic Tactical Officer would have wanted was for the senior staff and crew to dress themselves up in ridiculous starched shirts that absolutely precluded the possibility of getting meaningful work done. More likely Archer's intent was to make a professional first impression for the benefit of the Vulcans and the new Tactical Officer. Tucker already disliked Reed's replacement, though he hadn't even met the man. He raised a hand to tug discontentedly at the edge of the overly-tight, itchy collar. Archer caught his eye disapprovingly and Tucker stared back unabashed, refusing to give into the sensation of being rebuked for fidgeting in church.

Hearing the seal of the airlock disengage, Tucker dropped his hand quickly as the whole party turned to watch. The door slid open to admit two Vulcans and an Andorian. As the captain exchanged pleasantries with the Vulcan captain – pleasantries which the Vulcans clearly considered unnecessary and which Archer had never been the type to enjoy either – Tucker studied the Andorian with open interest. He'd heard that the new crew member was not human. One of the first non-humans out of Starfleet Academy, in fact. Accustomed as Tucker was to having T'Pol working amongst the crew, and to seeing other aliens on the Enterprise for various sundry reasons, it was nonetheless strange to see an alien dressed in the familiar blue uniform of Starfleet, complete with maroon piping and Lieutenant pips on the collar.

The Andorian, like most of his species, was not particularly tall. His skin was a pleasing shade of light blue that carried the faintest hint of green where it was in shadow. Dark eyes looked calculatingly back at the welcoming party, so that Tucker felt obliged to continue his scrutiny more subtly. The Andorian's antennae, protruding from a head of neatly-kept white hair, were upright but relaxed, the tips curving slightly forward. One of the antennae was noticeably shorter than the other. Tucker wondered if it was growing back, as Shran's had, after some traumatic amputation. Tucker had heard that much of an Andorian's body language communication could be understood by looking at its antennae, but he would have to leave the nuances of such interpretation up to Sato.

At that moment, realizing that Archer's discussion with the Vulcans might last several minutes – they had turned to the topic of delivering Reed's 'remains' back to Earth, and Tucker noted Archer's pained expression with little sympathy: how much of that was a façade? – Sato herself took the initiative and greeted the Andorian Lieutenant in his own language. The newcomer looked startled, then his antennae curved slightly inward in apparent pleasure as he responded. The two spoke briefly in the alien tongue. Then, as if remembering the presence of others, the Andorian turned suddenly to Tucker, T'Pol, and Ensign Tanner.

"Forgive me," he said in barely-accented English, accentuating the words with an incline of the head almost like a tiny bow. Tucker felt an upwelling of resentment, because although he had never seen Reed do anything similar, it seemed such a Reed-like thing to do that he couldn't help the irrational sullenness. "It was rude of me not to speak so all could understand. I am Lieutenant Covan."

He shook hands with all of them. He had a firm grip, Tucker noticed distastefully. Ordinarily he liked people whose handshakes didn't feel like holding a dead fish, but in this case he was looking for reasons to dislike the Andorian and his inability to immediately find any was making him cross. Sato seemed pleased with the new addition.

"Welcome aboard the Enterprise, Lieutenant," T'Pol said. She had not greeted the Vulcans with Archer and evinced no desire to do so. "I am Sub-Commander T'Pol, First Officer of this vessel. This is Commander Tucker, our Chief Engineer; Ensign Sato, our Communications Officer; and Ensign Tanner, our acting Head of Security and Tactical Officer."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Covan said to Tanner. "I regret that it is not under better circumstances."

"It can't be helped, sir," Tanner answered unsmilingly. Tucker was pleased to see that Tanner, at least, seemed to share his reservations. The Andorian's antennae retreated slightly at the chilly reception.

"I look forward to meeting the rest of the team," he tried again. Tucker almost scowled. The _team_? Covan had been on the Enterprise only a few minutes, and already he felt comfortable enough to refer to his soon-to-be staff as 'the team'?

"I think you'll find the department staff very competent," Tanner responded coolly. Tucker made a mental note to buy the man a drink at the earliest convenience.

"I'm sure I will. I understand that Lieutenant Reed kept them very well trained."

As if sensing the slightly murderous resentment emanating from Tucker and Tanner, Sato hurried to intervene.

"How was your journey, Lieutenant? I trust it wasn't too long."

"Not at all." The Andorian lowered his voice confidentially. "I do hope, however, that the Enterprise has cuisine slightly more suited to my palette."

"You didn't enjoy the Plomeek broth?" Sato asked innocently. The two seemed to share an inside joke.

"I'm afraid it's not quite the same as the cabbage soup I'm used to."

"Not to worry," Sato assured him. "I'm sure we can find something suitable for you. And if not, Doctor Phlox is a connoisseur of some of the more exotic alien delicacies. He will surely have something that fits your tastes."

"I look forward to it, Ensign."

Finishing his conversation, Archer came over to the others, leaving the Vulcans waiting silently.

"Lieutenant Covan, I'm Captain Archer. Welcome to my ship." Archer looked tired, but if he shared Tucker's discomfort with Reed's replacement he did not show it.

"Thank you, Captain. It's an honour to be a part of this mission."

"Where was your last station?" Archer asked, visibly trying to show interest in the newest member of his crew. Tucker suspected the captain wanted nothing more at this moment than to crash in bed for a few hours.

"Jupiter Station," the Andorian replied. Archer nodded.

"Yes, of course. I believe Admiral Gardner mentioned that. You come very highly recommended by him, by the way."

"I will do my best to live up to those recommendations, sir."

"Not right away, I'm afraid. Our ship's doctor needs to perform a medical examination on you first. We don't have much experience with Andorian physiology, and he'd like to get a baseline. Hoshi, would you show the Lieutenant to Sickbay and to his quarters afterward?"

"Of course."

Tucker watched them leave, already speaking in Andorian again. _To his quarters._ To _Reed's_ quarters, really. Archer recalled his wandering attention.

"Commander, I'd like you and Ensign Tanner to arrange for Lieutenant Reed's body to be transferred to the Vulcan ship immediately," he said quietly. "Our Vulcan guests are on a time crunch."

"Yes, sir."

"We'll see to it, Captain," Tanner said sombrely. It occurred to Tucker that although the corpse waiting in Sickbay for transportation meant nothing to him personally, it held a great deal of meaning to Tanner and his staff, who wholeheartedly believed it to be Reed's body.

"Thank you." Archer sounded genuinely grateful. Perhaps he was relieved he didn't have to be a party to that farce as well. "You're dismissed."

* * *

"…it's almost like an entirely separate language. I always thought human nonverbal communication was quite intricate, but this is something entirely different. Did you know there are entire dialects of Andorian that rely only on antennae movements? Almost like sign language. And their poetry…"

Tucker barely listened to Sato's enthusiastic monologue about the complexities of Andorian communication and culture stemming from the aliens' antennae. He had tried to pay attention at first, but the topic – obviously inspired by Lieutenant Covan's recent arrival – was hardly one that he wanted to discuss. He resorted to nodding along, lost in his own thoughts.

"…and you're not even listening to me, are you?"

"Mm-hmm," Tucker nodded absently. Sato sighed.

"Trip."

"What?" Tucker looked up over his barely-touched plate of fried fish and potatoes. "Sorry, Hoshi."

"What's bothering you?"

"Nothing." Nothing he could explain to her, anyway. Archer's orders had been clear. Only he, Tucker, T'Pol, and Phlox were to know the truth of Reed's 'disappearance.' Tucker wondered how Sato would react if she knew.

"Sure. And I'm a Vulcan snowman." Vulcan's lowest temperatures were well above the freezing point of water. "It's about Covan, isn't it? You don't like him."

"I like him fine," Tucker protested.

"I'm a communications expert, Trip. I saw how you were looking at him – I thought you were going to strangle him for a minute there."

"I'm sure I'll get used to him."

"You didn't want Starfleet to replace Malcolm so soon," Sato guessed quietly.

"I know, it's not really fair to him," Tucker admitted. "It's just strange to see someone in Malcolm's place." _Especially while Malcolm's still alive._ But he couldn't say that.

"It's not fair to us, either," Sato pointed out gently. "None of this is fair. But we can't just stop the mission. You know Malcolm wouldn't have wanted that."

"These days I'm not sure what Malcolm would have wanted," Tucker said darkly, with a hint of bitterness that seemed to take Sato aback. How much of what he knew about Reed was true, and how much was a lie? Tucker hated himself for doubting Reed, then hated himself just as much for not taking the captain's word on the matter. All this had him so screwed up. Nothing was the way it should be. The Reed that Tucker knew would never desert or betray Archer and the Enterprise; but he already had once, and apparently had done so again. If only he could just _talk_ to Reed. Maybe there was an explanation, somewhere.

Mistaking his frustration for grief, Sato put a hand on his wrist. "I miss him too. I still catch myself thinking he's down in the Armoury. The number of times I've almost hailed Malcolm instead of Ensign Tanner…" she shook her head sorrowfully. "We all miss him. But he's gone, Trip. We have to move on."

 _He's not dead!_ Tucker wanted to shout in her face. _He left, Hoshi! He left all of us to think that he's dead. And for what?_ For the orders of some mysterious former employer? Instead of shouting, Tucker forced himself to act along. It was surprisingly easy to portray his anger as sadness. Had it been this easy for Reed to act the part of something he was not? _He might not have been acting,_ Tucker insisted futilely to himself. _There's an explanation. There has to be._

"I know." He feigned emotion in his expression. "I'm sure I'll get used to Covan in time."

"That's right. Give it time." Sato squeezed his arm and gave him a sad smile. Uncomfortable with her sincerity, Tucker tried to steer the conversation away.

"What are you, the ship's counsellor?"

"Sometimes," Sato smiled, some of the grief fading from her expression. "Phlox and I split the work."

"On this ship, it's probably a full-time job," Tucker said wryly, drawing a short laugh.

"You're not wrong." She gathered up her plate, preparing to leave, but paused to look at him. "Are you okay?"

"Sure." Tucker smiled past the whirlwind of doubt and confusion in his mind. "Thanks, Hosh."

* * *

Trapped in the dark with no point of reference, Reed had no idea how long had passed. By now the cricks in his crunched spine and neck had developed into a fully-fledged torment. Despite the substantial pain, the greatest trial was something else entirely. In the darkness, there was only his own mind to occupy him. Every time his consciousness began to slip – though it was hard to tell in the darkness whether or not he was drifting – he heard noises, or thought he did. Was he intentionally not being allowed to sleep? Or was it he imagining the sounds? Or was this sleep after all, some horrible nightmare? The angry throb in his neck suggested it was not, but he couldn't know.

Pricks of light danced in front of his vision when he opened his eyes, as if his mind simply could not grasp that there was absolutely nothing to see. Reed moved his fingers and wrists in a vain effort to keep blood flowing through them. He had given up on his feet, which had passed through various stages of pins and needles and into aching numbness some indefinable time ago. Nevertheless, the discomfort of the cramped box did not seem so terrible anymore. Reed found that if he lay perfectly still and breathed lightly, the pressure of the close walls was less terrible.

At least, it would not have been terrible except that there was nothing to quiet his mind.

He closed his eyes so he could pretend that if he opened them he would see something. He wished someone would interrogate him, give him something to fight other than his own mind. Give him something to hate. Anger was strength. He couldn't hate Harris: the man had done no wrong by using him in the only way in which Reed was still useful. In the Section there was no right or wrong, there was only the mission. And Harris had followed that law to the letter.

If there was blame to be placed, it was on Reed. He had walked willingly into Harris's trap, betraying as he did everything that had become most valuable to him. He had turned his back on the Enterprise. On his crew. On his Captain. The ship and her crew had become his home, or at least the closest he'd ever thought he would have to a home. And what had it taken for him to abandon that? Only the beckoning whistle of a man he'd sworn never again to follow, and he'd come obediently to the master's call.

He'd thought himself better than Harris. He'd thought he could turn away from what he had become in the Section. But some choices could not be undone, however young and stupid you were when you made them. Sometimes naivety could not excuse actions. Some acts were unforgivable, or became so once their implications had played out into actuality.

He never should have left. His loyalty was to the Captain of the Enterprise, and no longer to the Section. But it was too late for that, wasn't it? Archer was light-years away, believing him dead. He would never know of his traitorous officer's repentance that came just too late to do any good.

All his life had been lived from one _too late_ to the next. He had never managed to learn that life didn't give second chances. Now he had run out of time.

There was water on his face. It felt cold against his skin. A thin, steady stream of water ran silently from somewhere above him. It trickled down around his nose and mouth, taunting him with its continuous flow as he first drank greedily and then choked it out when it didn't stop, when the stream became a river. The cold wetness pooled around his body and stole his air in the darkness. It kept coming, filling up the chamber.

The water lapped teasingly at his face, forcing him to lift his face to breathe. The only direction he could turn his head put his nose and mouth directly in the stream pouring down on him.

The water rose.

* * *

As the days and then weeks passed, Tucker found it appallingly easy to get accustomed to the new status quo on the Enterprise. It took about a week before stepping onto the bridge and seeing a blue-skinned face where Reed should have been no longer gave him a nasty jolt and the feeling that he'd stepped onto the bride of the wrong ship, but eventually that too dissipated. To the engineer's infinite fury, the targeting scanners, which had plagued Reed incessantly since the very beginning of the mission, abruptly gave up the struggle and resigned themselves to the unfortunate business of functioning correctly. Tucker never would have believed that a simple piece of equipment would anger him _by working correctly_ , but there it stood. He scolded himself for his irrationality. Probably targeting scanners just needed to be broken in.

The Enterprise had entered a dry spell of space. It had been unusually long since they had encountered anything of note, from an M-class planet to a disgruntled alien. The timing, Tucker thought, couldn't have been worse. They all needed something to get their minds off Reed. Archer in particular seemed ready to go stir-crazy. Things had gotten so bad that they spent a full day studying an unusually-shaped piece of space rock which proved to have absolutely no strange characteristics at all beyond its outward shape. The science department had conducted test after test on the unoffending object, determined to find something wrong with it. They had even launched a full-scale plan to bring the entire thing aboard the Enterprise for further study – a feat which would have involved clearing one of the shuttle-bays and 'relocating,' according to their report, the wall of the aforementioned bay. T'Pol had promptly shot down the idea, probably astonished – if Vulcans could be astonished – at the bizarre persistence of her human colleagues in believing that the perfectly ordinary piece of rock could have 'useful scientific properties.' It had wasted the day, at any rate, and given them nothing in the end except a small amount of satisfaction for the Armoury staff when Archer had permitted Covan to blow it up with the super-charged phase cannons.

The new Tactical Officer was another reason why Tucker hoped to see some kind of action soon. He would never hope for the Enterprise to be attacked, of course, but he was curious to see how Covan would react under pressure. The Andorian seemed to be faring quite well as the head of his department. There had been none of the expected murmurs of discontent under the new leadership, or at least very few. Covan had made no attempt to change the protocols that Reed had put in place. Whether this was out of sensitivity or because he didn't have better ideas, Tucker wasn't sure. He knew which explanation he preferred. The transition from Tanner to Covan had to all appearances gone smoothly. The Lieutenant had already put his new staff through a few drills and training exercises, and reported in one of Archer's senior staff meetings that he was well pleased with their performance. But for all that he seemed to be an excellent officer insofar as the day-to-day life of the ship went, Tucker knew that things could change drastically once an actual crisis hit – and, devilish as the idea was, he rather hoped such a crisis would hit sooner rather than later. Nothing serious, of course, maybe just a random alien ship taking a few shots at them. At the very least, Tucker thought despairingly, that might give him _something_ to fix. The warp core persisted in running perfectly, and there was a limit to how long Tucker could legitimately spend crawling around in access tubes pretending that he was making important modifications.

It was illogical, Tucker knew, to attribute any of this to Reed's absence. Still, he couldn't help feeling that if Reed were here, something would have happened. From the unfortunate events during their shore leave on Risa to their last away mission, it seemed that there had been hardly a dull moment with Reed around. Probably that was just Tucker desperately wanting to do something, and had no rational basis, but the impression lingered. Not that he would necessarily want to repeat all of those experiences, particularly not the one on Risa – but the sheer boredom almost made him think fondly of that unfortunate night.

And yet everything had been so simple back then. The weight of deception and ulterior motives had not hung heavy in the air between them back then. Or perhaps it had, as far as Reed was concerned, and Tucker had never noticed. Perhaps the past always seemed cleaner in comparison with the present. Whatever the case, he would have given almost everything to have back the Enterprise's early days: back when everything had been so new and exciting. When each day was an experiment. Back when he and Archer had been the closest of friends, off on their dream mission together. Before the Expanse had twisted his old friend into a vindictive dictator and a politician who could rationalize absolutely anything. Back when his friendship with Reed had been uncomplicated. He'd enjoyed making fun of the Brit, who shot back with a razor-sharp wit and rarely took any real offense. Back before the Sulliban. Before the Xindi. Before the superweapon, and all the damage it had done both directly and vicariously, both to him and to others.

But there was no point in dwelling on that. Tucker had to admit that the encounter with the mysterious Anachron species, despite the near-tragedy of the event, had left him strangely excited about the possibility of time travel; but for the moment at least, that was still a far-off fantasy. It was not yet a viable solution to any such problems as the Xindi had caused, and because of the volatility of such an endeavour, it might never be. And so the grass remained greener in retrospect. Tucker was okay with that; it was the helplessness of knowing that Reed was still alive and out there somewhere, and that there was nothing he could do about it, that left him frustrated and discontent. There was nothing he could do about it, though, or about the fact that the lack of anything substantial to do left him with far too much time for introspection. All there was left to do was to continue on; to pretend that Reed was dead and he himself was moving on; to will himself to believe that their mission out here was worth all it had cost them.

Sometimes, Tucker wondered if Reed had felt anything like this disillusionment as he walked the halls clothed in the professional veneer of an officer to cover the secrets he held.

* * *

Only the steady throb of Reed's heart told him that he was still alive. He had only that to separate reality from the images that his mind threw at him, all twisted up and snarled together with the sick taste of guilt.

He was still in the dark. The water had gone. It had taken something away from him when it went: the last of his sanity, perhaps. The spasms of his uncurled muscles were such that it had taken him a while to realise that he was not still in the cramped box.

His head ached sharply. A thousand needles, invisible in the dark, pressed into his skull from all sides. He thought he was imagining them until he tried to move and nearly put his eye out on one of the sharp spikes.

He thought he had been drugged. His whole body felt strange and limp, and it was more than the deep ache of stretched muscles that had grown unused to being stretched. Cold metal pressed against his skin on one side and thick, inflexible leathery straps on the other side. Between the two these held him upright. He would have fallen without them.

There were others in the room – Romulans, probably. He could sense the movements nearby. He felt little fear of them. The strange horror of the unknown hung over him like a shroud. The Romulans were known; they were not to be feared. It was something else entirely that brought clamminess into his icy hands.

The needles were doing something to his head.

He was sure of this without having any definite way of knowing. There was a strangely foreign sensation of mounting pressure inside his skull. His thoughts grew confused and scattered. He thought of a world that he had never really called home: a blue-green marble set in the great dark emptiness of space. He thought of a ship called Enterprise, and of the people on it. These things had gone distant with the unreality of drugged memory, brought clearer only in occasional fleeting snapshots. He could no longer be sure that any of the things he'd clung to so firmly at first – Tucker, the Enterprise, Captain Archer, Sato – had ever existed. The only thing he could depend on was the Romulans. He had seen their faces before they had stolen his eyesight with blackness; he remembered that. He heard their voices occasionally and it reassured him. The unknown words brought that one solid memory back into his mind. He could be certain of the Romulans even if they were the ones hurting him.

He wasn't at all sure that they had done this to him. The Romulan voice he heard more often than others was tight with worry. Were they concerned for him? The ides filled him with gratitude. Surely if they were doing this to him they would not be worried about him. Perhaps he was inventing it all in his mind, and they trying to save him. Perhaps none of it was real.

He wasn't fighting them anymore, wasn't trying to tell himself that someone would come for him. There was no one coming. Probably there had never been anyone to come. He had accepted that. He had accepted that he would die here, wherever 'here' was, and however he had gotten here. He had accepted it and yet it still gnawed at him with teeth of chilling fear because, although shaky logic told him otherwise, there was no end to what could happen to him in this shadowy void between imagination and truth. There were no finite bounds on the pain and terror he could experience before he died. It was not pain that he was afraid of so much as it was the fear. The fear turned his mind against him.

His mind did not seem to be under his control anyway. He saw things that he did not know: twin planets, one rusty brown and one pale, cloudy green. A home he had never set foot on. A family he did not have. These memories were not his own and he did not know where they came from.

Someone was screaming nearby and it was not him. He heard a great deal of shouting and felt movement all around him. He thought that among the voices he understood _turn it off, you are going to kill him_ , but it could not have been about him. He was not dying. One of the Romulans was somehow terribly injured. It was still crying out. There was a sound of madness to its cries. Reed felt that in some way, though he did not know how, he was himself responsible for the Romulan's pain.

The needles pressing against his head scraped his skin and then were gone. There was light. Reed had not known he could still see. His eyes watered in protest at the sudden brightness, but he dared not shut them for fear of losing the light. After a time his vision cleared and he was able to see something of his surroundings. In front of him by some ten feet was a Romulan bound in a reinforced metal chair. Several Romulans were gathered around, two of them lifting a heavily-wired hemisphere of metal off of their companion's head. A helmet of some kind? Reed had no conception of what was happening. It was this bound Romulan that was screaming, though his cries were quickly fading to moans.

One of the other Romulans was angry, was demanding to know what had happened, and another was saying that something had failed. _The mind probe cannot fail_ , the angry one insisted. Reed did not understand what they were talking about, but it was clear that something had gone terribly wrong and the Romulan now being released from its bindings had suffered the worst of the mishap. Reed grappled awkwardly to comprehend the situation and could not even begin to make sense of it. The confusion sickened him.

When one of the Romulans hyposprayed him into unconsciousness, it was a relief.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: The plot holes are mine!

(They're also [mostly] intentional.)

* * *

Reed did not know when exactly he had awakened, but he would rather have remained asleep.

His head was alive with pain and the alarming sensation of something crawling inside his skull. It precluded any rational thought, and at the same time seemed to heighten his awareness so that the slightest sensation of any kind was a torturous onslaught. Cold sweat slithered across his bare skin, contrasting strangely with the feverish heat that gripped his back wherever it stuck to the cruelly insulating leather beneath him. The slightest motion sent sharp spikes of agony into his forehead. He couldn't quite be sure that some outside force wasn't actually striking him in the head at every move.

Something cool and hard brushed against his neck and hissed as it discharged. Reed tried to pull away. His muscles refused to cooperate.

The crawling thing inside his skull wriggled and died, leaving only the faintest recollection that it had been there at all. The headache eased with the disappearance of the crawling sensation and he found he could breathe normally again, rather than chancing short gasps when he could bear the pain. A hand ghosted across his face, and he pulled instinctively away again. The throb in his skull worsened slightly, but no answering stab met his movement.

"Don't open your eyes yet," a voice whispered close by.

He wasn't planning on it. His eyes ached deeply and the idea of the slightest bit of light was abhorrent.

The pain had eased enough for his mind to slide shudderingly back into place, thoroughly rattled. Reed found he was able to think enough to realise that he had no idea what the hell was happening to him. Where was he? Nearby, he sensed motion. He'd heard a voice just a few seconds ago; who was it? Presumably someone who had more answers than he. It was difficult to imagine anyone having fewer answers.

"Phlox?" he slurred groggily. Speaking did not hurt as much as anticipated, which was a pleasant surprise.

"What?"

Automatically, he opened his eyes to see the speaker. Light struck at his eyes like a dagger and he groaned in pain.

"I said," the voice was impatient, and, he noticed for the first time, accented, " _don't_ open your eyes. Your eyes are very sensitive right now. Be patient."

His mind scrabbled clumsily for details. What was wrong with him? Was he waking up from surgery? Why would he have surgery? Had he been injured? Who was with him? The voice, and its accent, was unfamiliar to him.

He searched for a fixed point in his memory to start from. All he could manage to conjure was a vague recollection of shadowy figures moving against a backdrop of green light. The images didn't seem to make sense, though he couldn't say why. He had nothing concrete to contrast them with. Slightly panicky, he tried to find any recollection at all. A name? A place? Just a moment ago he'd said _Phlox_. He was able to put a face to the name – a faint memory of a ridged, alien face that was very familiar to him. He did not remember where he knew Phlox from.

Reed opened his eyes again, more cautiously, and though he had to squint, the light was bearable. In fact it was quite dim, he realised as he adjusted slowly to using his eyes. Motion flickered to one side, and he turned toward it to see a Romulan approaching. He jerked back reflexively and only by pure luck avoided falling off the leather-covered table he was on. The Romulan stopped.

"I'm not here to hurt you."

He hadn't thought that, exactly, but his heart was racing and adrenaline prickled uncomfortably at his stomach. But why? And how did he know so clearly that this was a Romulan? He looked around, disoriented by the strangeness. In the dimness he couldn't make out much of his surroundings.

"Do you know where you are?"

Reed looked back at the Romulan, feeling dazed and sick. "I – no. What happened? Where am I?"

"Don't worry. You will remember," the Romulan told him. "You're suffering from mild amnesia. It's quite common. You'll regain your memory soon."

This answered absolutely none of his questions. He sat up cautiously, swinging his legs over the side of the table. He had to fight a momentary wave of dizziness.

"Don't try to walk yet, Malcolm," the Romulan warned.

 _Malcolm._ He was Malcolm, which answered a question that hadn't occurred to him yet. _I am Lieutenant Malcolm Reed of the starship Enterprise._ The words were hauntingly familiar.

"Where is the Enterprise?" What was the Enterprise? A starship, of course, hadn't he already told himself that? But what was its significance to him? _…of the starship Enterprise._ It was his ship. The Enterprise. Of course. "I want to speak to Captain Archer."

Jonathan Archer. And Phlox. Phlox was the doctor. A Denobulan. The random bits he could glean were slowly reassembling. Reed scolded himself nervously for his lapse of memory. The Enterprise was intimately familiar to him: it was his own ship. Of course he remembered it.

"Captain Archer isn't here. You are not on the Enterprise."

"Where am I? Who are you?"

"I am S'Trep, First Medic of the ship _Pritak_. You are in our medical bay."

"Why?" Reed groped for an explanation that seemed to hover just out of reach. "Where's Harris?" He had seen the man recently, he felt sure. That was a bad sign, but it could be a starting point for an explanation of what had happened to him.

"Harris?" S'Trep seemed unfamiliar with the name. "I do not know who you speak of." He held out a folded garment of heavy grey material. "Wear this. You may become chilled."

Reed realised only when the clothing was offered that he was, in fact, completely unclothed. He took the proffered garment hastily and put it on, holding the edge of the table to steady himself. It was similar to a hospital gown, loose-fitting and fastening down one side with three ties. The fabric was neither soft nor comfortable, but it was better than being naked.

"Harris brought me to your ship, didn't he?" Reed asked, drawing out the thoughts with difficulty.

"The one who brought you here?" S'Trep looked at him with a strange expression. Reed wasn't used to seeing any expressions on such a Vulcan-like face. It was disconcerting. "That one is long gone."

"I don't understand," Reed frowned uneasily. "Why? What happened?"

The expression became more distinct. S'Trep looked pitying.

"You will remember soon enough. You ought to rest now."

Reed's gut clenched uncomfortably. "What happened to me? Why am I here?"

The Romulan's mouth tightened into a thin line. "No more questions."

"I need to speak to Captain Archer," Reed said deliberately. Surely the Captain would have answers. "Please, will you help me contact him? Use the frequency 1247 alpha. I must speak with him."

He didn't really expect a reply, and he got none. S'Trep turned away without answering. Reed tried to follow him, but stumbled dizzily as soon as he relinquished the support of the table. He fell heavily onto his hands and knees. The Romulan hoisted him briskly upright with Vulcan-like strength and deposited him back against the table.

"Do you listen to nothing?" His tone was impatient. "Do not walk. Lie and rest. You will not recover if you slam your head on the floor!"

Chastened, Reed slid back onto the uncomfortable leather table and lay back, welcoming the relief from dizziness. His mind raced with questions, but he had been trained to take things as they came in hostage situations.

 _Hostage situations?_ Reed disliked the way his mind seemed to dredge up the most random phrases and thoughts and dump them on him from time to time with no explanation. It was maddening. He wondered, briefly, if he was losing his mind, but dismissed the possibility without much consideration. If he was, there wasn't much he could do about it anyway, and if he wasn't then there was nothing to worry about. In any case, there was no point dwelling on the thought.

 _Lie and rest_ , S'Trep had said. Uneasily, Reed closed his eyes and was surprised by the sudden relief from the headache he hadn't realised was still there. He tried, with little success, to quiet his mind.

He did not have long to spend thinking about it. A door slid open nearby, letting in a flood of light that slapped Reed hard in the face as he sat up, startled. He squinted through the renewed pain in his head to see two Romulans wearing mottled grey uniforms enter.

"S'Trep!" one of them called as the other touched a control on the wall which brought the lights in the medical bay up to full brightness. Reed winced and raised his arm to block the glare. He heard S'Trep's hurried footsteps behind him.

"Why isn't the human tied?" the first of the two arrivals demanded. "You know it's dangerous, S'Trep."

"Come now," S'Trep protested in a scolding tone. "Surely you're not doubting my ability to defend myself against a drugged and barely-conscious human. He's no threat to me." The medic's voice sounded harsher than it had earlier. He seemed displeased with the intrusion into his territory.

"I'm sure Keyar would be pleased to know what liberties you've been taking with it." The second Romulan's voice was lower and smoother. Reed got the impression that this one was infinitely more dangerous than the first. "One might almost think you desired to help the human."

"Don't be absurd." Much of the bluster had gone out of S'Trep's voice. "I am only keeping it alive, as he asked. A job, I might add, which you seem determined to make me fail at!"

Reed peered through slitted eyes toward the three Romulans in time to see the one who had just spoken to S'Trep shrug indifferently. "Keyar paid a high price for it. He wants it alive only as long as it can be useful."

"Which I am beginning to believe it cannot be!" S'Trep shot back. "The mind probe failed. Would you condemn another of our crew to madness by trying again?"

"There are other ways to retrieve information," the first of the newcomers began.

"I am not even certain there is anything left in the human's mind to retrieve, even supposing the probe did function," S'Trep objected. "I have yet to ascertain the extent of the neural trauma he has suffered."

That sounded quite serious. Reed found that he could not bring himself to be as concerned as he ought to be. All this had a bizarre tint of unreality to it. Perhaps he was drugged, as S'Trep had said. He couldn't understand why the Romulans would speak so openly in front of him. For that matter, why would they speak English? The whole situation made little sense. Very likely he was lying in Sickbay under the influence of some drug or other of Phlox's. Probably he had been sick, or injured, and all of this was simply a fevered dream.

"That's not your job to ascertain," the Romulan with the silky voice said. "As you yourself said, your job is to keep the human alive. As it is my job to retrieve whatever information it possesses."

"It is also my job to care for the health of this crew," S'Trep said. There was a taste of fear in his words. "You cannot risk sending another probe operator to insanity because of a malfunction."

"There is nothing wrong with the probe. It was a freak occurrence."

"You don't know that," S'Trep insisted. "At least permit me to study the human's physiology further. Perhaps we may learn something about why the probe malfunctioned, so we may prevent another failure."

"And perhaps you may decide the human deserves a mercy killing."

"It is too dangerous," S'Trep said firmly. "I cannot allow you to carry through with this."

There was a dangerous silence. "I am acting under the orders of my superior officer," the other Romulan said at last in a very low, soft voice. "Do you intend to try to stop me, Medic?"

S'Trep shrank backwards, realising almost too late the peril he faced. "I do not," he managed, defeated.

"Very well."

S'Trep stood aside as the two Romulans advanced into the medical bay. Reed watched them uneasily as they approached. He wished the dream would end now. He disliked being in Sickbay, but he would rather be awake and under Phlox's eye than in the middle of this strange and disturbing fantasy.

The Romulans seized him under the arms and dragged him off of the leather table. Reed struggled against them instinctively until one of them struck him hard in the face with the butt end of a disruptor pistol. The pain and S'Trep's outraged cry of protest were all too real.

* * *

Unexpectedly, it was T'Pol who brought the first hope of something more than irregularly-shaped space rocks into Tucker's mind, during a senior staff meeting.

"I have been examining Vulcan star charts," she explained, displaying one on the computer monitor mounted on the wall. "We will soon enter a region of space that is not officially claimed, but which is controlled by the Orion Syndicate. As you know, they are an enemy of the Vulcan High Council. Several deterrent attacks have been conducted against them in recent years, with little success in halting their activities. I recommend extra security precautions while in this region."

"Wait a minute, T'Pol." Archer leaned forward. "I'm not planning on having anything to do with the Orions, especially if they can outgun Vulcan ships. Vulcan firepower is superior to ours."

"The failure of the attacks was not due to inferior firepower," T'Pol said stiffly. Her rigid posture suggested that the suggestion was absurd. "Rather, it was due to an inability to locate the Orions in any significant numbers. They do not have an organized central government, Captain. They are a largely nomadic people composed of a number of smaller tribes, each of which operates under its own set of rules while maintaining a measure of connection to the Syndicate as a whole. Each tribal group lives off what it is able to pirate from vessels within its particular sphere of influence. Their chief industry is a slave trade to the worlds within this region."

"I can see why they're enemies of the Vulcan Empire," Covan said drily. Tucker understood what he meant. The planet Vulcan had a violent past, and before the teachings of Surak were widely adopted, slavery and other atrocities had been universally practiced across the world. Since the sage's teachings of peace and inner calm had become common law more than philosophy, slavery and other barbaric customs had disappeared entirely and were punishable by death. So strong was the Vulcan abhorrence for such things that, as a united species, they had announced their absolute refusal to ally themselves or associate in any way with peoples that engaged in the trade of sentient beings.

Tucker happened to know that the Vulcan High Council was excellent at having closed eyes where there was substantial gain to be found. But a disorganized society with little to offer, which openly practiced the slave trade? He had to concede the point to the Andorian lieutenant. He could certainly see why the Orions were not in the good graces of the High Council.

"Indeed," T'Pol agreed, unamused as ever. "The Orions do not possess the technology to withstand Vulcan attacks. However, their loose structure and lack of central leadership makes them a difficult enemy to fight. They should pose little threat to the Enterprise, although they represent a powerful force within this realm of space."

"We're talking about an organisation with a price on my head," Archer objected. "The first time we ran into them, they crippled our weapons and took nine crew members, including yourself. How can you say they're not a threat?"

"That incident is what ultimately prompted the Vulcan High Council to take action," T'Pol said. "It was felt that the Orions' willingness to capture and enslave a Vulcan showed a dangerous disrespect for the High Council. As for the attacks, Captain, I did not say they were entirely unsuccessful. A great deal of infrastructure and ships were destroyed; enough to set the Orions back many years, as I understand. However, these attacks were considered failures because they produced no substantial effect on the slave trade within Orion territory."

Archer was frowning. "You're telling me the Vulcans have been at war with this species in the last few years? I find that a little hard to swallow. I've never heard of such a conflict."

T'Pol's expression faintly suggested bemusement at human naivety. "Captain, the Vulcan High Command does not report to Starfleet," she said delicately. "Sometimes in dealings with other species, discretion is considered prudent. There is much that Starfleet does not know about the actions of the High Council."

There was an uncomfortable silence. "I see," Archer said at last. "Still, I'm reluctant to take us into Orion territory after what we've seen of them before. Can we plot a course around them?"

"That would be inadvisable, Captain." T'Pol seemed undisturbed by the momentary awkwardness. "We are not far from the borders of Romulan space, and avoiding Orion territory will mean entering Romulan space. Alternatively, there is a route that would take us away from both the Romulans and the Orions. However, it would take approximately nine months at maximum warp."

"And given the choice between Romulans and Orions, you think the Orions are the less risky choice?"

"Indeed, Captain. Their technology is inferior to what you recall from our last encounter with them."

"Supposing I accept that the Enterprise is relatively safe from attack," Archer acquiesced. "Are there any security measures you recommend beyond normal?"

"Yes, Captain. Small or unarmed vessels are at great risk of capture. I recommend caution in the use of shuttle-pods. It may be prudent to entirely refrain from using them until we are out of Orion space."

Tucker didn't like the idea of entering Orion space at all. T'Pol's assurances about Orion capabilities were a bit too vague for his liking. He understood that she still maintained ties with contacts inside the High Council, and could not relay everything she knew to her human companions, but given recent events it made the engineer uncomfortable to think that another senior officer was withholding information. Archer's expression indicated that he felt likewise, but he kept his silence on the matter.

"I agree," he told T'Pol. "Let's avoid away missions for now. How long will it take to pass through the Orions' territory?"

"Approximately three weeks," T'Pol said, drawing a soft groan from Tucker. Covan shot him a sympathetic glance, which he stoically avoided. "Is there a problem, Commander?"

"No away missions, just when we're finally gettin' somewhere with M-class planets?" Tucker asked plaintively. "That's harsh, Cap'n."

Once, a long time ago, Archer would have laughed and agreed. He might even have come up with an idea to safely give the crew a day or two of shore leave. Now, he responded unsmilingly to Tucker's complaint.

"It's a necessary security measure. I'm in full agreement with T'Pol."

"I'll brief my staff, Captain. We won't be unprepared." Covan's antennae curved backward in anticipation. The antennae were almost exactly the same length now, Tucker noticed. He hadn't paid much attention since his initial impression of the Andorian, but it appeared that the damaged antenna had fully grown back.

"I trust not." Archer nodded approval. "Take whatever security measures you see fit, Lieutenant. T'Pol, please forward all pertinent information on the Orion Syndicate to Lieutenant Covan. If that's all, you're dismissed."

Archer rose as the rest of the staff began to file out, but beckoned to Tucker. "A word, please." When the others had gone he settled himself on the edge of the briefing room table.

"I know you're getting restless, Trip. So am I. I know it's hard to go this long without any action."

He seemed awkward with his own informal manner. Tucker watched him, curious as to where the line of thought was going.

"I just think it's better to err on the safe side," Archer explained. Tucker was reminded fleetingly of Reed's constant vigilance, almost to the point of paranoia. The last time they'd had 'any action,' they'd lost an officer. Archer was understandably, if a bit irrationally, concerned at the thought of incurring any further risk that wasn't strictly necessary.

"I know, Cap'n. But the crew's gettin' bored stiff. They'd just like to see somethin' happen." Never mind the fact that he, too, was nearing the limit of his ability to sit still and do nothing. Reed would have been itching for some action by now, though he would probably have agreed wholeheartedly with T'Pol's recommendation of caution. Not for the first time, Tucker was annoyed with himself for thinking this way. It had been three weeks since Reed's disappearance-presumed-death, and still in any given situation Tucker often caught himself picturing the former Tactical Officer's reaction. It was as if Reed were still on the ship. A piece of him lingered in the memories of his shipmates.

"I understand." Archer rubbed a hand wearily over his head. These days, he looked tired more often than not. "But I need the safety of the crew to be our top priority."

It sounded as if he were pleading for Tucker to understand and agree. Tucker wondered if the Captain, too, realised that his method of approaching the threat of the Orions was different than it would have been a few years ago. Perhaps he was trying to show that he hadn't changed; that it was just a matter of priority. Rather than being softened by the appeal, Tucker was left slightly unnerved. In the face of potential danger was not the time for any captain to need reassurance from his subordinate.

Tucker realised in the moment that Archer was not the only one who had changed. A couple of years ago he would have hurried to Archer's support with understanding and probably some humour to lighten the atmosphere. Now, his reaction was discomfort, almost distrust. But the Captain was not the only one who regretted the change in them both.

"I guess we'll all have to put up with the ship a little longer. We can clear out the mess hall, put on some jazz, and call it shore leave. They'll never notice the difference."

The weak attempt at a joke fell flat, although Archer smiled along. The two men stared at each other across a widening gulf between them. Tucker wished that Archer would say _this is ridiculous, Trip, let's just have things the way they were. I've got a couple of beers and a water polo match in my quarters, want to join me?_ But he didn't, and Tucker couldn't find the words he wanted either.

"If that's all, Cap'n?"

"Yes, Commander," Archer said distantly. There was a note of finality in his tone. "Yes, that's all."

* * *

"Malcolm. Malcolm, you must wake."

Something hissed near Reed's ear. His surroundings faded from blackness into sharp focus as he opened his eyes. His heart throbbed painfully, as if he'd just been injected with pure adrenaline.

He was lying on his back on cold, hard metal, and there was a Romulan leaning over him. Reed recoiled instinctively, but had nowhere to go.

"Shh. I mean you no harm. It is only me, S'Trep. Come, you must get up."

"What," Reed croaked weakly, but the Romulan placed a hand firmly over his mouth.

"You must be silent. Get up."

Reed was horribly disoriented. He had a vague recollection of pain and Romulan faces, but he couldn't be certain it hadn't been a dream. This Romulan seemed familiar to him somehow, though he couldn't say how, but nothing else in this strange shadowy place was recognisable.

S'Trep helped him to his feet, something which Reed was too dizzy to accomplish on his own. He supported Reed with one arm. The other arm was occupied by a bulky parcel of some kind. They hurried across the cold, hard floor and through a door into a better-lit, though colourless, hallway. Reed was too dizzy and blinded by the light to walk very well, but the Romulan seemed very urgent. Reed was terribly confused. He felt that something was wrong here. He wanted to lie and rest until the dizziness left, but he did not have the energy to pull away from the Romulan.

The walk seemed to last a very long time, but finally S'Trep deposited him against a wall and disappeared somewhere out of the narrow range that Reed's squinting vision allowed him to see. The alien returned shortly and half-lifted him up a set of stairs into a small chamber. Reed was able with difficulty to make out that it was the inside of a small vessel.

After a few minutes he felt the muted purr of engines, then had to clutch wildly at the sides of the seat he'd been placed in as his still-reeling mind translated the gentle shift of takeoff as a violent rolling motion.

The inside of the shuttle was dark. Reed could barely hear the minute hum of the engines. Still unsure whether he was awake at all, he didn't try to talk. This was not painful, only strange. If it was a dream, he might wake to something much worse. To what? Instinct did not provide that answer.

A long time passed in the darkness and quiet. Occasional glints of light from distant stars lent an ethereal quality to the experience. Despite the adrenaline-fueled pounding of his heart, Reed drifted in a state of half-sleep. He watched the darkness outside, flecked with a thousand pinpricks of white. After what could have been long minutes or hours, he felt the small ship transition to warp. Its purring engines rose to a low throb and the dots of light blurred into coloured streaks against the black of space.

The Romulan flicked on the cabin lights, making Reed blink and squint in the unexpected glare. S'Trep slumped forward in the pilot's seat with a low groan of relief.

Reed felt abstractly that he should say something. But constructing words seemed difficult enough in his present state of disorientation, let alone translating them correctly from his brain to his mouth, so he opted not to make the attempt. After a while, the Romulan sat up and looked over at Reed.

"Are you in pain?"

It was such a non-sequitur to the situation that Reed had difficulty processing it. Apart from the involuntary tremors in his hands and the cold pit of unexplained nerves in his stomach, he felt fine.

"No."

"Good. I had to inject you with a stimulant to wake you. I wasn't sure how it would affect your physiology." He studied Reed with a worried crease in his forehead.

"I don't understand," Reed managed after some thought. He didn't understand anything, really. Where was he? What had happened? He could recall almost nothing before waking to S'Trep's low-spoken words. His dazed condition removed any urgency he felt from the questions in his mind. Perhaps they would take on more meaning later, but for the moment he was only confused, and nervous from the stimulant in his blood.

"No. I expect you don't." S'Trep examined a starchart on a small screen before him. "I'll try to explain when you're more coherent. Try to sleep for now, if you can. There's not much else you can do. Sleep, and pray that your Enterprise finds us before my people or the Orions do."

The word Enterprise stirred a strange uneasiness in Reed. He could not explain it. He did not recognise the word in context, but it held a strange significance, like a foreign word which bears such a strong resemblance to one's own name that it feels familiar.

But the Romulan was right. Reed was at least clear-headed enough to see that. He was in no fit state to understand much of anything right now. He didn't think he could sleep with the jittery alertness of the drug running through him, but he leaned against the side of the craft and closed his eyes against the cabin lights.

* * *

Reed woke to find himself alone in the front of the small spacecraft. Behind him, he heard S'Trep moving around in the back. The Romulan came forward holding a small sealed package. He looked surprised but relieved to find Reed awake.

"You're awake. I was beginning to worry."

Reed pushed himself upright in the seat. His mouth was cottony with dryness. "How long was I asleep?" he asked hoarsely. He thought he had only dozed for a short time, although he did feel much refreshed. The events of the past hours were dreamlike and distant in his mind, but by the fact of his presence on this shuttle with S'Trep, he had clearly not imagined everything.

"Almost twenty-four hours," S'Trep said. "Here, drink this." He handed the pouch to Reed and went into the back of the craft to get another for himself. Reed tore a corner off of the pouch carefully and sipped the liquid inside. It was not water, but seemed to be water-based. The drink had a bitter taste but quenched his thirst quickly.

"How do you feel?" S'Trep asked, returning to the pilot's seat. "I have food, if you're very hungry, but if you can do without that would be best. There's not much of it."

"I'm alright," Reed said. There was a bruise or something similarly painful on his left cheekbone and his head was mildly sore, but otherwise he couldn't find anything wrong with himself. He was quite hungry, but opted not to mention that. "Just confused. I don't understand."

"What can you remember?" S'Trep asked. Reed shook his head doubtfully. Anxiety curled in the pit of his stomach as he searched his mind for anything before waking to S'Trep's urging the previous day, if the Romulan's estimate of the time he'd slept was accurate. He found nothing.

"I'm not sure."

"You know me? Do you know why we are here?"

"I don't know," Reed admitted.

"You were on a Romulan ship, the _Pritak_ ," S'Trep prompted. "Do you remember why?"

"No." There was a gaping void in what Reed knew he ought to know. He felt he was groping in the dark.

S'Trep sighed. "I was afraid of this. You were on the ship because the Romulans believed you had information that would be useful to them. They have been torturing and interrogating you for the last two and a half weeks."

"I – but I don't know anything," Reed protested. "I don't remember. What did they want?"

"Something you couldn't give them. Or wouldn't. I don't know."

"I don't remember anything."

"You did. You knew something they wanted, but they couldn't get it out of you." The Romulan shook his head. "I am taking you away from them. They did not know we were gone until it was too late."

"You helped me escape?"

"Yes."

Reed wasn't sure he believed that. "Why?"

"I believe what they were doing to you is not right," S'Trep confessed. "The mind probe is an instrument of evil. It should never have existed!"

"I don't understand what you're talking about," Reed said bluntly. S'Trep sighed.

"I suppose I do owe you an explanation."

Reed agreed.

"The Romulan Star Empire has technology to enter the mind in order to retrieve memories," S'Trep began. "It is called a mind probe. The Tal Shiar often uses it for interrogation. It is known to cause intense pain and great damage to the neural network of the individual it is used on, but that is considered…acceptable. It is most effective on a mind that is already vulnerable, so an extended period of torture prior to the use of the probe is not uncommon in situations where time is not a limiting factor.

"You were sold to the Empire by a human named Harris. I do not know why, or what information you were supposed to have. I only understand that it was something of great value to the Empire. For two weeks the captain of the _Pritak_ placed you under extremely high mental and physical stress to open your mind to the probe. However, when he attempted to extract information from you with the mind probe, it malfunctioned in a way we have never seen before. It seemed to backfire on the operator of the probe. He suffered extensive and irreparable neural trauma."

By _extremely high mental and physical stress_ , Reed suspected that the Romulan meant torture. He was not sorry he didn't remember that.

"The Captain insisted the malfunction was a fluke and made another attempt, with a similar result. He intended to try again the following day. I refused to allow this abomination to continue."

Reed watched the Romulan suspiciously. His inability to confirm or negate anything S'Trep said with corresponding memories irked him.

"Why should I believe you?" he demanded of the Romulan. "How do I know you're telling me the truth?"

"You cannot," S'Trep said weakly. He looked very tired. "I cannot prove it. You may decide whether or not to believe me. I doubt I could stop you from attacking me and taking control of this ship, if you chose to do so. But you have nowhere to go, and you don't know how to fly this vessel. If you kill me, you will only sabotage yourself. Although I am sure I deserve it."

Reed didn't have a ready response to that. It was true enough, though, that he would have nowhere to go without the Romulan. He had no choice but to trust S'Trep.

"Why can't I remember anything?" he asked, less harshly.

"I put a block in your mind," S'Trep said, without meeting his eyes. "The probe operator was not the only one who suffered trauma to the mind. Your neural network was quite scrambled after the second interrogation with the probe. I had to place a block around the damage to allow you to function. I am sorry, Malcolm. I am not experienced with the technique."

Reed experienced the sensation of hanging to the end of a rope that had just been severed. "Does that mean I'll never remember anything?"

"No," S'Trep said unhappily. "I'm not very good at the technique. I doubt it will last very long. It was the best I could do. I only hope it will last long enough for us to find your ship. Perhaps we can get you to your doctor before it disintegrates."

"What did you mean 'to allow me to function'?" Reed asked warily. S'Trep looked even more distressed.

"The techniques used on you – they are intended to retrieve information at all costs. Including destroying the mind. Your mind appears to be stronger than most, but…"

"What will happen when the block breaks?" Reed asked. His hands felt cold.

"It is not so much a break as a gradual degeneration as your brain rewrites neural connections to the damaged areas." S'Trep shifted uncomfortably. "As these connections are formed, the damaged portions will begin to affect all normal mental functions. You may lose the ability to distinguish between past and present. Your mind may create, distort, or combine memories and draw upon them at random. Essentially, your neural network will become so tangled that it cannot link stimuli to responses."

"I get the picture, thanks," Reed said hastily. He didn't like the sound of that at all. The thought that his own mind could begin to fail him at any moment was terrifying. "How long will this take?"

"I don't know. It could be as little as a few hours or possibly even a month or two." S'Trep assumed a more clinical air. "You must let me know if you experience any confusion, flashbacks, or other physical or mental symptoms."

"I'm experiencing a hell of a lot of confusion right now, thanks," Reed said sharply, made irritable by his own fear. S'Trep looked sideways at him.

"You don't remember anything at all? The Enterprise? Archer?"

"What?" Reed asked, greedy for information. "Enterprise?" The word felt familiar on his tongue, but he had nothing he could connect to it, only a gaping void where understanding should have been. "What are those things?"

"You spoke of them to me," the Romulan told him. "You asked me, 'Where is the Enterprise?' You said you needed to speak to Captain Archer. You asked me to contact him."

"I don't know who that is." Reed clenched his fists in frustration. "Captain of what?"

"A starship, I would presume," S'Trep said. "I believe Enterprise is its name."

"I wouldn't know, would I?" Reed spat at him. He knew he was being unreasonably rude, but he felt little remorse. Any condition of madness would be better than an absolute blankness where he should have had memories of a lifetime up to this point. He had no one to blame but the Romulan. S'Trep winced and didn't answer.

"Where are we going now?" Reed asked, calming himself. Allowing himself to get worked up over something he could not change was unproductive.

"We are on a heading towards your home planet," S'Trep explained. "However, we have neither enough food to keep us alive until then nor enough fuel to power this ship that long. Not to mention that the Empire will be searching for us. We are out of Romulan space now, but that is hardly an obstacle to the Empire."

"I don't like those odds," Reed muttered grimly.

"We must hope that your people or find us first," S'Trep said. "Pray for salvation," he added under his breath, "for the end has come." It sounded like he was quoting something.

"I'm not much of a praying man," Reed said drily. The Romulan looked at him, wide-eyed and startled. "What?"

"I spoke in Romulan!"

"What?"

"I did not say that in English," S'Trep said impatiently. "How did you understand me?"

"I didn't notice," Reed admitted, disquieted.

"I don't understand," S'Trep said in astonishment. "How can you possibly understand Romulan?"

"I don't know."

"I asked you that in Romulan," the medic told him. "This is fascinating." He considered Reed thoughtfully. "Can you speak it?"

"I doubt that. I didn't even realise you weren't speaking English."

"It must have been the mind probe," S'Trep said, awed. "Perhaps when it malfunctioned, you were somehow imprinted with memories from the operator."

"I thought my memories were inaccessible."

"The portion of the brain governing language and communication is separate from the areas that store long-term memory," S'Trep informed him. "It is quite possible. I have never heard of such a thing, but you are already an exception. I can think of no other explanation."

"What a bargain," Reed muttered sourly. "I can't remember anything, but now I understand the Romulan language." A curious thought occurred to him, distracting him from the resentful fear already creeping back in. "How do you know English?"

"I have always been fascinated by languages," the Romulan said, with a hint of wistful pride. "Some time ago, a strange vessel was caught in a minefield on the border of Romulan space. It escaped the minefield and was driven away by patrol vessels, but its entire database was scanned before it left. Some of the information was made public for study, including the portions of the database concerning language."

"What kind of ship was it?"

"A human starship, I assume. I was not involved in the encounter. At the time –"

A shrill siren erupted from the controls of the small craft's controls. S'Trep gasped and bent over the sensor readout.

"What is it?"

"It's a proximity sensor," S'Trep said shakily. His voice was high-pitched with alarm. "There's a ship closing on us."

"What ship?"

"I don't understand," the Romulan protested helplessly. "How can they detect us? The cloak is activated."

The shuttle gave a tremendous shudder as it was struck from behind by weapon fire. Reed almost face-planted into the control panel but caught himself just in time. S'Trep worked frantically over the controls as the streaks of stars coalesced into distant points of light. The shuttle had fallen out of warp. A second jolt set off another alarm somewhere in the craft.

"Tractor beam," S'Trep panted. "Rotating shield frequency."

In the rear viewscreen, Reed could see the ship looming over them. Huge, brown, and ungraceful, it made him think of some carrion creature come to feed off the sick and injured.

"What is it?" he asked again, urgently. S'Trep's fear was contagious. It gripped at Reed as the Romulan looked up, panic-stricken.

"Orions."


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: You know the drill.

Warnings: I know I put warnings at the beginning, but this chapter needs more. Nothing too gory or explicit, but there's some pretty dark stuff - mentions of rape/sexual abuse/physical abuse/human trafficking. If that will be a problem for you, please don't read any further.

* * *

The Orion guards stripped their prisoners of clothes and possessions with ruthless efficiency. The green-skinned humanoids seemed utterly bored, and when Reed made a halfway effort to retain at least his underclothes he was thrown to the floor unceremoniously. One guard put a foot on his throat, just firm enough to make him struggle for breath, while the other cut off the clothing. The dull side of the blade slid sickeningly across his bare skin, leaving a trail of cold behind. The Orions cuffed his feet together with a short, heavy chain.

Reed was passed through hands that held whips and disruptor pistols. One Orion in a dark-hued coat forced his mouth open and slid a gloved finger around his teeth. Reed would have bitten him except that a guard stood by, casually holding a disruptor pistol against the small finger of Reed's left hand. The threat was clear. The technician gave a pleased nod and Reed was shuffled along to the next station, where the largest Orion he'd seen yet pinned him easily against a wall while another technician stuck a needle in his head, just beneath his ear. There was no point in resisting, although Reed found the thick needle a barbarically old-fashioned instrument. He understood the purpose within minutes, however; the Orions' unintelligible language became steadily more familiar until eventually Reed could understand as if it were English. Apparently he'd been injected with a subdermal translator.

He was at length herded into a modified cargo bay by the hulking guards, where he found himself among at least two dozen others similarly stripped to their skin. These were mostly of species that Reed had never seen, though he recognised an Andorian and two Denobulans. One of these was a female child about seven years old, naked like all the others. Reed turned his eyes away, torn between outrage at their captors and horror at the child's predicament. What would become of the child? At least she wasn't alone.

He looked for S'Trep, but the Romulan was nowhere to be seen. Reed wondered if he would ever see the medic again. He attempted conversation with one or two of the other prisoners, hoping to get an idea of where he was in space. He knew they understood his words, assuming they too had received subdermal translators, but none of them replied. Reed soon discovered why when a sharp sting cracked across the back of his legs. He turned to see an Orion guard holding up a whip, menacingly preparing to strike him again.

"No talking," the guard growled. Reed felt that, under the circumstances, there was little point in disobeying. He could do no good by getting his skin stripped off.

* * *

There was simply no way out.

Tucker stared at the board in front of him, determined to come up with some brilliant solution that had been inexplicably eluding him for the past ten minutes.

"When did you get so good at chess?" Sato asked Covan, who sat across from the increasingly-frustrated engineer.

"Starfleet Academy. I suppose I just picked it up."

"Just picked it up," Tucker muttered sullenly under his breath. Unlike the Andorian lieutenant, he had spent long hours perfecting his chess skills under the tutelage of T'Pol for the express purpose of defeating a nearly-unbeatable opponent. Unfortunately, it now seemed that the aforementioned skills were far less than perfect after all. However, Tucker excused himself, he was out of the habit. His usual practice partner was mysteriously absent.

Bad-temperedly, he flicked his black king over onto its face. Covan raised his eyebrows.

"Are you sure you want to do that?"

Tucker resisted the urge to glare, and kept the sarcasm out of his voice with difficulty. "I guess I'm just not a match for you."

"It is still possible to force a draw," Covan informed him. "Would you like me to show you how?"

"No thanks. I think I've had enough chess fer the day."

"An excellent game, Commander." Covan rose and extended a hand, beaming. "You are a worthy opponent."

"Thanks," Tucker said grudgingly, shaking the tactical officer's hand. The Andorian offered Sato a graceful dip of the head before departing the mostly-empty mess hall. When he had gone, Tucker busied himself setting up the pieces again to avoid Sato's glare.

"What is wrong with you, Trip?"

"Nothin's wrong with me."

"He knows you don't like him."

Tucker shook his head in annoyance more than denial. He'd made almost every effort to be civil to the Andorian in the past few weeks, setting aside his initial misgivings in the interest of professionalism. He thought he'd been restraining himself quite well, on the whole. He'd even accepted Covan's offer of a game of chess, which, it now seemed, had been merely an excuse on the part of the Andorian to embarrass him.

"This is getting ridiculous," Sato said irritably. "He's on a ship full of aliens. It's hard enough for him to feel welcome without you at his throat all the time."

"I am not at his throat!"

"You know what I mean, Trip. This isn't easy for him either. Covan's not an idiot, he knows no one wanted him here."

"The poor man," Tucker said acidly. "He seems to be enjoyin' himself jes' fine. Forgive me if I'm not bendin' over backwards to make him feel welcome."

"No, you're not, and you're not the only one. You're a senior officer. The crew looks up to you, and they're not blind. A lot of them are taking their cue from you."

Tucker winced involuntarily at Sato's words. That hurt. It wasn't as if he hadn't noticed the tension between the new tactical officer and many of the crewmen, especially those in engineering. It hadn't occurred to him that he might be the cause – or if it had, he'd opted not to dwell on it and chalked up the discontent to the Andorian's _charming_ personality. Now, he realised that there was more than a little truth in Sato's words.

"I'm tryin', Hoshi, alright?"

"You need to try harder." The communications officer was unusually severe. "It's affecting good order and discipline."

"Goddammit, Hoshi. Don't do that."

"Why?" Sato leaned forward, forcing Tucker to meet her eyes. "Because it's something Malcolm would have said? Maybe it's something you need to hear. In case you haven't noticed, Malcolm is dead."

"Is that what yer tellin' yerself?" Tucker asked nastily. He knew he was crossing a line. "Is that why yer so buddy-buddy with Covan? I guess yer tryin' to replace Malcolm too."

He did not even see Sato's stinging slap coming. Tucker stared at her in disbelief.

"I could put yew on report fer that."

Sato's face was pink with anger. "You can try, _sir_."

Across the mess hall, Tucker saw two astonished crewmen whispering to each other. He lowered his voice.

"Get ahold of yerself, Ensign."

"I don't think I'm the one who needs to do that," Sato spat back at him. "Do you think I don't miss Malcolm every single day? Do you think there's anything I wouldn't do to have him back? I would give anything, Trip. But that's not a reason to flip off Covan every chance I get. He's doing his best and it's not his fault that he's not Malcolm. You've got to get it together, for the sake of the crew if not for Covan. Malcolm is gone, and he's not coming back."

"That's a lie," Tucker snarled in her face. His hands shook against the edge of the table. "He's not gone."

Sato stared at him with a mixture of anger and pity. _If only you knew_ , Tucker thought furiously. The Captain's order prevented him speaking further. He had already said too much.

"Let me know when you're thinking clearly," Sato said. "We can talk then."

* * *

The lights came on with a snap and the day's motion began. In his few days aboard the slave ship, Reed had quickly learned what was expected of prisoners. The lights signalled the first of two meals in each day, judged by the ship's time. Any prisoner who did not get up for food was examined by a guard to discover the reason. If it were illness, the prisoner was quickly removed to prevent the spread of disease. Reed did not know where these were taken. He did not like to guess. Any other reason for refusing food resulted in the prisoner being force-fed the foulest scraps the guards could find. After the first day, Reed ate without protest.

There were at all times during the day at least two guards in the cargo bay. The Orions paid little attention to the prisoners, as long as they did not congregate, speak, or move around too much. These rules were enforced with whips. Few of the prisoners needed more than a single lash to get the message clearly.

This day was different. From the corner of the bay, a guard unrolled the hose used for drinking water and sprayed down the prisoners one at a time as two other guards herded the motley collection into a line. Afterwards, still dripping and shivering from the cold spray, the prisoners were given rough, shapeless brown garments. Reed and most of the others were loaded into a smaller cargo transport ship, where the air quickly grew warm and stale in the overcrowded hold. Reed understood where the transport was taking them when he saw the planet below through one of the tiny portholes: this must be the slave market.

* * *

"What the hell did you think you were doing, Commander?"

Tucker stood rigidly at attention in the Captain's ready room, enduring the storm of Archer's wrath in stoic silence. It was not unexpected, although he did wonder how the story had come to the Captain's attention. Perhaps one of the crewmen who had witnessed the argument in the mess hall had reported it. Maybe Sato herself had done so. Tucker scolded himself for having such a low opinion of her. Angry as she might be at him, he doubted she would intentionally try to incriminate him.

"A physical altercation with a junior officer? Have you lost your mind?"

"That's an exaggeration, sir," Tucker hazarded. "It was not a physical altercation."

"Perhaps you'd care to describe it to me, then."

Tucker wasn't about to tell a story that might drag Sato into the line of fire. He said nothing.

"I didn't think so," Archer said grimly. He sighed heavily. "I know you're not happy with being cooped up on the ship for so long. But I would never have expected this kind of blatant misbehaviour from you, of all people."

"It has nothing to do with being on the ship for so long," Trip gritted out at him. He wanted to vent his anger on Archer, but he restrained himself.

Archer leaned back against the desk. "I see." He gave Tucker a _would-you-care-to-elaborate_ look. The engineer did not care to elaborate.

"You're angry with me," Archer observed. Tucker didn't see a reason to deny it. "Is it about Malcolm?" The engineer's continued silence answered the question clearly. "Still? We've been over this," Archer said aggravatedly. "There's nothing I can do. We don't have any way to locate him, and it was his choice to leave."

"I'm not so sure about that."

Archer rubbed his forehead in exasperation. "I don't have time to argue with you, Commander. I suggest you get yourself figured out, and do it soon. I'm taking you off duty for the rest of the day. I expect you to be prepared to act like an officer by the start of your next shift. I don't want to put you on report. Don't make me do it."

* * *

Reed sat with his back to the bars at one end of the cage, watching the movement of buyers and sellers around the open market square. He had resigned himself to the fact that there was no way to get his back satisfactorily up against something in a barred cage which stood nowhere near a wall, and as a result he was unable to relax even for a moment. Diagonally across the cage, the two Denobulans sat clumped into another corner. The male, a young adult by Reed's best guess, remained likewise alert. The girl-child slept tucked close to his side. Reed wondered if she was ill. She seemed to have been asleep most of the time in the Orion ship, too. Perhaps all Denobulan children slept a lot.

The older Denobulan certainly would not have dared to sleep regardless. He watched Reed almost ceaselessly, seeming to view the fellow prisoner as a greater threat than either Orion guards or slave buyers. Reed considered trying to reassure the man, but thought better of it. Better by far for the Denobulan to focus his fears where they need not be than for him to consider what was actually likely to become of his young companion – his daughter, Reed presumed. He suspected that the child would not go untouched for long, if the lingering glances of some of the more perverted slave traders were anything to go by. The thought filled him with reckless anger. _Let them try_ , he thought grimly. He knew there was little he could do to prevent the child being separated from her father and sold, but he indulged himself with the temporary fantasy that he could protect her. He found himself watching the child sleep, shivering slightly in the thin clothing that did nothing to protect her from the chill, until he noticed her father glaring at him. He was careful to keep his gaze away from the Denobulans after that.

As the hours wore on, the busy trading in the market began to die down. Reed guessed that night was beginning to fall. Perhaps at night the market was closed. Rationally, he knew that escape was not even an option, but the situation seemed much more hopeful without dozens of guards and slave traders milling indiscriminately around. At least the Denobulan girl and her father would have a few more hours together.

The market did not empty as Reed had hoped, although the clientele changed. The newcomers were the lowlifes of the city, looking not for a purchase but a loan. The Orion traders were not scrupulous about what services they were paid for. Reed turned away from the sights in horror, but he could not block out the screams. The Denobulan girl woke at the sounds. Her father pressed her head into his chest and covered her ears, bending low over her to hide her as much as possible from the notice of both the guards and the customers.

Humanoids of species both familiar and unknown to Reed wandered by, most barely glancing into his cage. He was just beginning to hope that the child might go overlooked when an Orion guard approached the cage and began to unlock the door. Reed looked around to see the customer, but it appeared that the Orion was pursuing his own carnal pleasures. The Denobulan man scrambled toward the back of the cage, pulling his daughter with him. His fear of Reed had been overpowered by the more pressing danger.

Reed sat with his eyes slitted closed, feeling very calm, as the Orion stepped into the cage, ducking his head to fit inside. The Denobulan pushed his smaller companion back into the corner and interposed his body between her and the approaching menace. Reed rose to his feet and stepped directly in front of the Orion guard.

"Stop."

The guard did not even bother telling him to move. He reached out a hand to shove the human aside, but Reed moved first.

The Orion was taller than him by far, and Reed couldn't get a good angle at his face. Instead, he struck lower – much lower. It was a blow designed not only to drive the guard away for the moment, but also to dissuade him entirely from returning. He struck the guard in the groin with all the strength he had and was momentarily rewarded when the Orion doubled over with an agonized groan. Reed doubted the Orion would be interested in the Denobulan girl or any other female for some time to come.

Reed's satisfaction did not last. The Orion straightened long enough to seize him by the arm, quicker than Reed thought possible, and hurled him against the back of the cage. Reed's head struck the metal bars and he collapsed to the concrete floor, dazed, the wind knocked out of him. The guard backed out of the cage and locked it, swearing profusely amid the raucous laughter of his colleagues and the customers in the market.

Reed blinked the swirling haze of blackness out of his vision as he struggled for breath. When his sight cleared, the Denobulan was kneeling over him.

"Are you alright?"

Reed nodded, lacking the breath to answer aloud. He pushed himself up onto one elbow, relieved to see that the attention was already turning away from himself and the injured Orion and back to the grisly business at hand. The Denobulan backed away and returned to the girl, who pressed up against him with her face hidden once again.

"I am Fenzin," the Denobulan said. "This is Ayaila. I thank you for what you have done."

"I'm Malcolm."

Fenzin bowed his head. "Thank you, Malcolm."

"Is your daughter okay?" Reed asked. The girl was cowering against Fenzin with her face buried in his stomach. Her body trembled.

"She's not my daughter," the Denobulan explained. "She is my brother's first wife's daughter by her second husband."

Reed did not try to sort through this complicated tangle of family structure, and mentally assigned the word "niece" as the closest approximation to the relationship Fenzin had described. "Is she hurt?"

Fenzin patted the child's head gently. "No. She's afraid, but she will be fine."

Reed thought this an extremely optimistic view of the situation. In driving off the Orion, he had most likely only postponed the inevitable. The Denobulan girl might be uninjured for the moment, but that would only last until she was separated from Fenzin and sold. Possibly it would not even last that long.

"How did you come to be here?" Reed asked.

"I was taking Ayaila to visit her mother's family on Thespa," the Denobulan explained. Reed did not recognise the name of the planet. "I'm afraid the auto-navigation system on my shuttle must have malfunctioned. I plotted a course outside of Orion space, but I confess I was not particularly diligent about checking our course. I have made the journey before and thought the way was safe."

Reed watched the man with muted incredulity. Either Fenzin was a bit slow and did not understand the nature of the Orions' business, or he was incredibly naïve. Even frightened and caged in the middle of a slave market currently operating as a brothel, with nothing but his own frail body to place between his niece and the myriad of dangers threatening her, his attitude seemed to hold a gentle sort of optimism, as if he regretted his carelessness but was sure that, in the end, all would be well. Reed was under no such illusions.

"What of you?" Fenzin asked him. He had settled himself in the corner near Reed and placed his hands once more over Ayaila's ears. She seemed marginally calmer.

"I'm not sure," Reed admitted warily. He expected to be questioned, but Fenzin only nodded as if there was nothing strange about not knowing how one had come to be captured by slave traders.

"I am sorry I could not help you against the Orion," the Denobulan said. "I fear I do not have much understanding of fighting. I am not a violent man."

Reed could have laughed from sheer incomprehension. He could not grasp how anyone could fail to fight for their family, regardless of how inexperienced they were, should the need arise. Instead of laughing he shrugged and said nothing. His ribs and the back of his head where he had impacted the bars of the cage were beginning to throb quite badly as the adrenaline wore off, and he was not sorry to discontinue the unproductive conversation. He did not exactly dislike the Denobulan, but there was something unappealing about the man's naïve stupidity. Reed wondered how Ayaila had survived even as long as she had in the Orions' hands with Fenzin as her only guardian.

He turned away from the Denobulans and rested his forehead against the cool bar in the corner of the cage. The activity in the market had begun to die down slightly, as the earlier customers grew sated and began to file out. Many of the female prisoners lay on the flat concrete, sobbing. Others, more worryingly, were silent. Reed wondered if they were dead. He could smell blood in the air. He closed his eyes to shut out the sight of it all, but that took away none of his other senses and did not dull his urge to scream curses at the Orion captors and tear their eyes out with his bare hands. Blinding himself to his surroundings was of no use, so Reed allowed his gaze to drift across the market until it was drawn to a particular captive.

On the floor of a cage some ten metres away lay one of these unfortunate prisoners, a middle-aged female of a species Reed could not instantly identify. Only after some scrutiny did he determine that she was the same species as S'Trep. Her brow ridge was not pronounced, which made her less easily recognisable as a Romulan.

As Reed watched, her eyes blinked open and she shifted, as if sensing his gaze upon her, until her stare met his. Her eyes were dark and almond-shaped, and something about their colour and shape seemed to Reed vaguely reminiscent of someone he had known somewhere, sometime. The Romulan woman did not cry. Her clothing was stained with blood, but she gave no outward signs of pain. Only her eyes, staring back at him, were haunted.

Reed found he could not meet her unblinking gaze without feeling responsible for what had been done to her; but since he had done nothing to stop the assault on her – there was nothing he could have done, caged as he was, but that very helplessness condemned him to a kind of guilt – he did not avert his eyes. The least apology he could give was not to turn away. They stared at each other across the metres of emptiness until she closed her eyes and turned her head aside.

Reed gritted his teeth in helpless rage. The resignation he'd succumbed to in the last few hours died, replaced by anger. What did it matter if he lived or died here? Why should he fear the Orions? There were worse fates than death that the Orions could deal out and he had just seen that fate be executed upon others. He could not save them all, Reed knew, but perhaps he could save one.

 _I will not let them hurt you_ , he swore silently. He did not know if he spoke to Ayaila or to the Romulan woman lying motionless in her cage.

* * *

Sato opened the door after the second knock. She was still in uniform from her shift, and looked surprised and wary upon seeing Tucker.

"I'm not here t' argue," he said quickly, forestalling her reservations. "Cap'n would probably throw me in th' brig. He chewed me out proper."

"Do you want me to feel sorry for you?"

She was still angry. That was hardly surprising. Tucker sighed unhappily.

"No, Hoshi, I don't. Matter of fact I'm here t' say sorry t' yew."

Sato didn't quite seem to believe him. Tucker resigned himself to throwing himself thoroughly on his own sword, and quite possibly grovelling a bit after that. It was certainly deserved. "I was way outta line, Hoshi. Yew were right, I haven't been fair to Covan."

Sato's hard expression softened slightly, but she offered no outlet of escape and waited in silence for him to continue.

"Malcolm is gone," Tucker admitted humbly. "An' I shouldn't have –"

Quite unexpectedly, he found himself too choked up to continue. It felt like giving up hope to say the words aloud. Malcolm might be out there somewhere, waiting for a rescue that would never come. He might be some place that he could finally let down the façade of _Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, Starfleet Officer_. He might be dead. Tucker would never know. Malcolm was gone, just as if he were dead; but without the closure.

"Come on." Sato stepped aside to let him into her quarters. She spoke gently. "Get in here."

"I'm sorry," Tucker said thickly, following her inside. Sato closed the door behind them.

"I know." She took his hand. "So am I. I wasn't fair to you. I know you miss him, and you were right too. Covan cheers me up, and I guess I do feel guilty about that. Sometimes it does feel like I'm replacing Malcolm. But Covan will never be Malcolm. Okay? I haven't forgotten about him, and I won't. But I don't think he'd want me to mope around. Well, maybe a little bit," she added, on reflection.

"Maybe a little bit," Tucker agreed with a shaky smile. "You know he would."

"But not forever," Sato said, meeting Tucker's eyes earnestly. "That's no way to live, Trip."

"I know."

"Hey. Come here." Sato tugged him closer by the hand and released it to put her arms around him. She felt small and warm against him. Tucker closed his eyes and rested his forehead against her shoulder. She was short enough that he had to lower his head to do so.

"'M sorry, Hosh."

"It's okay."

"'M just tired of this. You know?"

"Yeah. I know."

"It wasn't s'pposed t' be this way."

"No." Hoshi stroked a hand over the back of his head. "It wasn't. It really wasn't."

The tears came freely. Tucker had no immediate desire to stop them.

"Sorry."

"Stop. It's okay, Trip."

It wasn't, and it might never be. Tucker was desperately tired of watching the people he cared about disappearing before his eyes. First it had been his sister along with seven million others in the Xindi attack; then it had been the second Elizabeth, the daughter he'd never known. He'd watched Archer, his former best friend, slowly fade into little more than an aggressive and vindictive commander. Now Malcolm was gone too. Who was next? Hoshi, maybe? He didn't think he could stand to lose anyone else.

* * *

The auctions started early.

Scraps of dirty bread and a single bowl of water were distributed to each of the cages. Now that the sale of their prisoners was imminent, the Orions seemed to have lost all interest in preventing disease from shared water. Reed allowed himself a sparing sip of the liquid, but refused to eat anything. Fenzin ate only after Ayaila had filled her stomach enough to refuse any more of the grimy bread. Reed's estimation of the Denobulan man increased very slightly.

The Romulan woman in the nearby cage was sitting upright. She must have been in great pain, but she did not show it. She drank thirstily and even ate a bit, never once glancing Reed's way.

Shortly after the food distribution, an Orion guard limped over to the cage shared by Reed and the Denobulans. Reed recognised him by the limp and the glare as the same guard who had unsuccessfully tried to approach Ayaila the previous day. Full of his newfound recklessness, Reed stood boldly in front of the door of the cage, prepared for another confrontation. The guard opened the cage door just wide enough to get one arm in and seized Reed's wrist firmly. Reed allowed himself to be dragged out of the cage, waiting for any opportunity. He was afforded none. As soon as he was out of the enclosed space, the guard pulled a short rod from his belt and shoved it into Reed's stomach.

Reed had been electrocuted only once before, and that had been a fairly mild accident. This was neither an accident, nor mild. His entire body stiffened as the shock spasmed his muscles, and when he opened his eyes a few seconds or possibly minutes later he was lying on the floor. The Orion knelt beside him and casually pressed a thin piece of metal against his neck, just below his ear. Reed cringed in discomfort as he felt wires from the underside of the metal piece sinking into his skin. It attached itself to him like a parasite.

"Don't try anything unless you want more of that," the guard warned.

An electric implant, as if he were a dog. Reed struggled to walk when the guard hauled him to his feet and pulled him toward one of the platforms scattered around the room. At every movement, his muscles threatened to cramp again. The guard deposited him on the ground behind the platform, where an auctioneer was already beginning to warm up the crowd by lauding the quality of his stock.

An old Andorian man was the first to be sold, followed by an Orion female. Reed was somewhat startled by this, but on reflection it did not surprise him. The Orions did not seem particular about what they sold.

The limping guard appeared as soon as the third prisoner had been bargained off and half-led, half-dragged Reed up onto the wooden platform. It was rough beneath his bare feet and he felt a splinter or two snare in his skin before he managed to get his footing and keep up with the guard.

"A human!" the auctioneer was saying. "A fine specimen. Young male, in perfect health!"

Reed stood still, looking out at the crowd of alien faces staring appraisingly up at him. He felt like a zoo animal. The guard made him turn in a circle, walk back and forth across the platform, and remove his loose-fitting, ragged shirt. When the bidding started he stood motionless again. The market seemed to have faded into distant echoes. He did not even hear the winning bid – did not know what the final decision of his monetary value was. Some distance away, the two Denobulans were huddled together again in the back of the cage. Just beyond them the Romulan woman stood close to the bars of her cage. She was watching Reed with intent, expressionless interest. The vague recognition prompted by her dark, almond-shaped eyes returned. Before Reed could try to search out the cause for this recognition, he was seized roughly by the Orion guard and driven off the platform to be replaced by the next item of sale.

His buyer was a rough-looking humanoid of indeterminate species with a nose that was flattened either by nature or some violent confrontation. The guard seemed to know him, and addressed him as "Entek." Reed could not determine if that was the customer's name or his species.

The man carried a powerful disruptor pistol of a configuration that was new to Reed. Once he had handed over the agreed-upon sum, the Orion gave him the control for the electric implant. The buyer tested it at a low setting that was still enough to make Reed gasp and flinch violently at the shock. He immediately loathed Entek.

It was a good thing he didn't plan to remain long in the alien's company.

* * *

A/N: Because I am an evil and vindictive person, that's why.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Only the plot and the characters whose names you can't pronounce are mine.

Pronunciation: S'Trep - Sə-trep. The apostrophe has the same function as in T'Pol's name. It creates a "break" in the word so that the letters are pronounced separately rather than as a single syllable. Stress is on the first syllable.

Fenzin - phonetic, short e and short i. Stress on first syllable.

Ayaila - aye-ail-ah. Stress on second syllable.

Entek - Phonetic, both e's are short. Stress on first syllable.

A/N: Again: plot holes are [probably] intentional. There are supposed to be inconsistencies in this chapter.

* * *

In the week since the Enterprise had entered Orion space, sensors had almost continually picked up between one and four ships trailing behind at a safe distance. Nothing had ever come within weapons range – somewhat to the disappointment, Tucker thought, of the Armoury crew. Apparently the Orions considered the Enterprise either too large or too formidable of a target to attack openly. Even so, the presence of Orion ships kept the crew of the Enterprise on high alert. That wasn't a bad thing. After three weeks of almost nothing to do, Tucker had experienced difficulties keeping his staff from becoming complacent, and he knew the problem was not limited to engineering. The presence of a threat, real or perceived, provided a welcome opportunity for them all to do real work instead of training exercises.

Despite the re-energizing effect of the threat, nothing had come of it so far. Tucker could see the boredom slowly growing again. Conscious as he was of the possible threat behind them, even Tucker was becoming frustrated with the inability to investigate any of the several M-class planets the Enterprise had passed near. He well understood the arguments against such an expedition. That didn't mean he agreed with the decision not to.

Out of lack of anything better to do, Tucker spent most of his time on the bridge except when administrative duties or routine maintenance called him elsewhere. He was there when, on the seventh day since entering Orion space, the communications array picked up an unexpected signal.

"Captain, I'm picking up a distress call," Sato reported.

"Source?"

Sato looked strangely puzzled. Instead of replying, she spoke to the science officer. "T'Pol, would you take a look at this?"

The Vulcan raised a curious eyebrow as she joined Sato at the communications console. "What is it, Ensign?"

The two conferred in lowered voices. Archer waited impatiently.

"Hoshi?"

Sato looked up, bewilderment clear on her face. "Sir, I don't know how, but…it's a Starfleet frequency."

In Archer's face, Tucker saw the same blinding flash of realisation that he felt. Starfleet had no presence this far out. Starfleet had never even been this far out before. There was only one unaccounted-for source that could produce such a signal.

"Malcolm," Tucker breathed soundlessly. He saw the thought reflected back at him across the bridge.

"Source?" Archer asked again.

"About ten million kilometres, sir."

T'Pol returned to the science station with long, sure strides. Tucker wondered if the same thought had occurred to her, too.

"A small vessel of unknown configuration, Captain. It is being pursued by two larger vessels. It appears to be unarmed."

"Get us there," Archer commanded Mayweather, grimly. Tucker felt a rush of adrenaline. His hands were damp. "Covan, polarize the hull plating and charge phase cannons. Give them a warning shot first, but fire at will if they target us or that ship."

It seemed to take a lifetime to get in range of the threatened vessel. It was a lifetime, Tucker thought: Reed's lifetime. He felt a swell of goodwill towards the Andorian tactical officer when Covan opened fire with a mighty blast from the super-charged phase cannons, directly between the two larger ships. The Enterprise swooped protectively down over the smaller vessel. Somewhat to Tucker's disappointment, the hostile ships fled instantly, without waiting to ask questions.

"Hail that ship," Archer ordered Sato. His voice was tense with uncertain expectation.

"Onscreen," Sato said. Tucker's chest tightened with hope.

The face that appeared on the viewscreen, however, was not Reed's. It was not even human. Stomach churning with let-down, Tucker heard T'Pol draw in a breath – not a gasp, but if she'd been human it would have been. Apparently the alien on the screen meant something to her that it did not to the others.

"I am Captain Archer of the USS Enterprise," Archer said, masking his disappointment well if indeed he felt it. "Who are you? Why are you using a Starfleet frequency?"

The alien was badly knocked about. Greenish blood trickled from a deep cut across one temple, and a livid bruise covered much of one swollen cheek, encompassing the eye. "Captain…Archer? This is the Enterprise?"

"You know of us?" Archer asked cautiously. The alien stared disbelievingly back, momentarily too stunned to answer.

"Yes," he replied at last, dazedly. "Yes, I have heard of you. I have news of your officer."

The tension in the bridge was so thick it could have been spread on toast. Tucker gripped the edge of the science station to keep his balance, knowing that the same thought in his mind was shared by both Archer and T'Pol.

"My…officer?" Archer's voice seemed to come from a long distance away. Tucker felt the answer before he heard it.

"Malcolm Reed."

Tucker heard muted gasps from Sato and Mayweather. Covan looked confused. Tucker thought he might fall.

"You must be mistaken," Archer said slowly. "Lieutenant Reed has been dead for four weeks."

 _Damn you, Jon!_ Tucker wanted to shout. _Even now, even when you know Malcolm is alive – and nearby! Even now, you would keep lying? Why?_

The alien was swaying, visibly struggling to remain upright. "I assure you, Captain," he said weakly, "Malcolm was alive no more than a week ago. And I believe he still is. But, perhaps, not for long."

Operating on autopilot, Archer turned to Covan. "Lieutenant, deploy the grappling hooks. Bring him in."

"Captain, I strongly urge against this," T'Pol said unexpectedly. "This man is a Romulan. They are a known enemy of the Vulcan High Command – a highly dangerous and aggressive species. This could be a trap."

Covan, somewhat recovered from the confusion, backed her up. "Sub-Commander T'Pol is right. There's no telling what could be on that ship, or what could be waiting for us to depolarize the hull plating. Romulans have cloaking technology. There could be a dozen warships waiting out there, for all we know."

For the briefest of hopeless moments, Tucker thought Archer would agree and refuse to bring in the foundering ship. Then the captain rounded on the Andorian. His face was dark with anger.

"Do it," he commanded in such a furious tone that Covan's antennae flicked back against his skull in alarm. "Now."

"Yes, sir," the lieutenant answered softly, nimble fingers already at work over the controls.

"Ensign, tell Phlox to meet me in the shuttlebay. Lieutenant, send a security team to the bay."

* * *

Reed followed his buyer submissively out of the slave market. He kept his eyes down, watching the alien carefully through his peripheral vision. Entek led him through the crowded street outside and then turned off it into a less populated vicinity. Reed hid his mounting excitement as they headed into emptier portions of the city. With every step away from the crowded streets, his chances of escape grew. He reminded himself not to act in haste. He would only have one chance at freedom.

They traversed a series of small lanes before finally turning into a narrow, dirty alley. Reed was astonished that his captor seemed so careless about his surroundings. Perhaps he was confident that his prisoner would not dare attack him.

If so, that was to Reed's advantage.

He lunged at the alien, knocking Entek against the wall of the alley, and found the man not as unprepared as he had expected. Entek let his back hit the wall hard and ducked under Reed's swing at him, coming up on the other side of the blow and retaliating with a strike that glanced off Reed's cheekbone. Reed managed to get a single punch into the alien's nose with his free hand as Entek fumbled for his weapon, hindered by Reed's grasp on his arm. He struck savagely down on the human's collarbone with one hand, momentarily weakening Reed's grip. Entek surged backward and twisted away, kicking at Reed's knee as he did so and knocking him back to all fours. The muzzle of the disruptor was in Reed's face before he could even start to get up.

Breathing heavily, Entek wiped the blood off his face with his free hand.

"You're lucky you're not dead."

That was completely true. Reed watched the disruptor pistol's muzzle wavering in front of his nose with Entek's harsh breathing. He felt very calm. Entek had just spent money on him, Reed reasoned. He wasn't likely to kill his purchase so quickly. He allowed himself one quick glance at the alien's face and saw excitement glittering in the pale eyes.

"You have a lot of nerve, don't you? I saw what you did to the Orion yesterday. I was hoping I'd get to try you first-hand."

The pistol was very close. Reed imagined he could feel heat radiating from it, although it had not been fired. He understood now that Entek had been tempting him to attack, curious to see his new purchase's martial prowess. He no longer wondered at the man's blatant avoidance of crowded areas. Entek had wanted Reed to make a move against him.

"Fight like that every time and one day you'll buy yourself free."

The alien was still fully expecting Reed to make another attack on him. Reed relaxed, sinking back on his heels. A fighting ring of some kind? Gambling, most likely. It was an interesting thought.

"I could get used to that," Reed said in a low voice. He raised his eyes slowly to Entek's face. The alien lowered the pistol with a look of grim satisfaction and Reed struck without hesitation. He grabbed Entek's wrist at the same moment as the man fired and the disruptor bolt struck the side of his stomach hard enough to take the breath out of him. Reed did not feel any pain. He twisted Entek's wrist savagely, fighting for control of the weapon, and they wrestled silently for several seconds. Reed dropped backward, letting his weight pull his opponent forward and off balance. He kicked out at the alien's groin, but Entek dodged expertly as he fell forward onto Reed. Finding his efforts turned against him, Reed rolled to the side to prevent the other man landing directly on top of him.

The pistol was of the utmost importance. The pistol was life or death. Reed gripped the cold metal with all the strength he had and forced it down against the hard ground. He lowered his head to protect his face and brought his knee up into Entek's stomach. He was rewarded with a low grunt as his blow met its mark. Apparently, the alien's physiology was similar enough to that of a human that its soft belly was vulnerable too. He punched in with his knee again, feeling Entek's grip on the weapon loosen. Sensing Reed's growing power over the pistol, the alien let go of it entirely and in one swift movement threw a fist into Reed's face. His nose crunched nastily but the weapon was in his possession, so it mattered not at all.

Entek kicked off the ground and slammed his shoulder into Reed's chest, rolling him over. Reed lost his grip on the weapon. In a panic he set his back against the ground and let Entek's momentum carry the alien over him. Entek's arms were caught down between himself and Reed. There was a sharp crack as the alien's head collided hard with the ground and he went still. Reed's mind did not register the unexpected end to the fight. Hot-blooded and still battling for his life, Reed snatched up the disruptor pistol and pressed it against the back of Entek's head.

He realised what he was doing at the very last second and jerked the muzzle of the pistol to the side just as he fired. The disruptor bolt scorched a black mark on the concrete beside the unconscious man's head. Reed crouched over the alien's limp body, shaking and gasping for air that seemed determined to elude him. He had almost killed an unconscious man. It was not killing that repulsed him, but the realisation that he had instinctively tried to murder a defenceless opponent. Reed sat back and wiped an unsteady hand across his mouth. Blood from his nose smeared across his wrist. He was having a hard time breathing. His head felt very strange.

Reed wondered what to do with Entek. He could not kill the man outright, not now that Entek was unconscious and unable to fight back. Neither could he leave him lying here. Someone might find the body, or the alien might reawaken and raise the alarm of an escaped fugitive. He would have to immobilize Entek in some way and hide the body. Reed got slowly to his feet and as he straightened a burst of searing pain exploded in his side. Reed staggered and barely caught himself on the wall of the alley. He looked down to see a burnt mess of black and red outlined sharply against the dull beige of his clothing. The disruptor had left a blackened mark on concrete; it had done much worse to human flesh. The smell of burnt meat assailed Reed. He sank back to the ground, dazed, pressing a hand over the wound.

"Goddammit." He barely had enough breath to speak at all. For a moment, he feared that this was the end. He thought of the little Denobulan girl back in the slave market, perhaps being sold right now. No one else on this entire planet had even a single thought for the child's fate except Fenzin, who was hardly capable of protecting her.

Reed forced himself to take a few deep breaths and think logically. He re-examined the wound, more carefully this time. Upon closer scrutiny he felt his hopes rise. Although the injury was quite deep, the heat of the disruptor bolt had done an effective job of cauterizing it. Blood oozed out here and there, but he was in no immediate danger of bleeding to death. By the fact that he was still conscious and upright under his own power, he seemed to have escaped serious internal injury. It was simply tremendously painful. Most likely that, and the after-effects of adrenaline, were the cause of his difficulty breathing and dizziness. The greatest danger at the moment, Reed decided, was infection. There was little he could do about that – but, he thought grimly, infection would be a few days in setting in. He had at least that long before the injury would become dangerous.

He ripped off a wide swath of Entek's shirt and wrapped it around his body to make a crude bandage, in case the wound began bleeding. Reed climbed cautiously to his feet. Braced against the pain this time, he was able to stand mostly upright. He looked around for something to do with Entek's body. Not far down the alley he discovered a door into one of the adjacent buildings standing ajar. With difficulty, he dragged the alien the distance to the door and deposited it just inside. Before leaving, he cracked the butt of the pistol hard across Entek's head to be sure that the man would not wake up any time soon.

Outside, Reed paused to formulate his thoughts as he tucked the disruptor pistol into the waistband of his pants. It was hard and uncomfortable against his hip bone. The next order of business was to make his way back into the slave market unobserved. If Fenzin and the girl were still there, he would have to devise a plan of escape. If not, he would be forced to search for them. Either way he would not get far in the distinctive loose garb of an Orion prisoner. He would have to clothe himself in Entek's garments. Reed turned back to the door he had just closed. The handle rattled faintly and did not move.

Reed cursed himself for a fool. He waited a moment and twitched the handle again, hoping against hope for a different result. It was firmly locked. He momentarily considered attacking the door with the disruptor pistol, but he didn't know how much charge the weapon's power cell held and he needed it for other purposes. It would take a repeated shots to get through the heavy metal door, and the sound might attract unwanted attention.

He would just have to stay out of sight as much as possible and take his chances.

* * *

"Who are you?"

Archer was waiting with a security team when the Romulan stumbled unsteadily out of the decontamination chamber into Sickbay. Phlox, ignoring the grim expressions on the faces of the others in the room, hurried forward to steady his latest patient and help him to a nearby biobed, already examining him with a hand scanner.

"Captain, please!" the Denobulan scolded. "This man is injured. Can't the questions wait until later?"

"No," Archer said in a hard voice, causing the doctor to stare at him. "This man claims Lieutenant Reed is alive, Doctor," he added by way of poor apology. Tucker, watching from the side, saw the Denobulan's eyes widen.

"I see."

"I am in no imminent danger, Doctor," the Romulan told Phlox shakily, in accented English. Tucker realized belatedly from the presence of the accent that the alien was not using a translator. Translators did not convey accent. The Romulan actually spoke English. "I am a physician myself."

"Then you ought to know how unwise it is to self-diagnose a head injury," Phlox responded promptly.

"Doctor, if you would." Archer was clearly displeased with being ignored. He addressed the Romulan again. "Who are you? What do you know of Malcolm Reed?"

"My name is S'Trep," the injured alien answered. He winced as Phlox gently probed the bruise on his cheekbone. "I am the First Medic of the Romulan Star Empire ship _Pritak_. I – was, rather. I hardly suppose that I could return to that position."

"And Malcolm?"

"He was brought on board my ship almost four weeks ago as a prisoner of the Empire. I don't know the circumstances of his arrival, but I believe he was sold to the Empire without his consent or foreknowledge by one of his superiors. He mentioned the name Harris."

Archer's face was very white and set. Tucker could not tell from looking at him whether anger or something else was foremost in the Captain's mind. Archer turned to the security team.

"Wait outside."

The men looked to Covan, reluctant to miss any news of their former superior. Archer glared at them until they hurried out, leaving only himself, Covan, Tucker, and T'Pol in Sickbay with the doctor and his patient.

"Do you know anything about this Harris?" Archer demanded when they had gone. S'Trep shook his head.

"No, Captain. I only heard his name spoken by Lieutenant Reed on one occasion. I'm afraid he was not able to tell me any more."

Not able, Tucker wondered, or not willing? He vastly preferred the latter explanation.

"What did the Empire want with Malcolm?"

S'Trep gave a sigh of relief as Phlox ran a dermal regenerator over the cut on his head. Although the regenerator did not instantly heal skin, Tucker knew from personal experience that it relieved pain quickly. "Information of some kind, although I don't know what that might have been. I was not in charge of his interrogation. I was to keep him alive until the information that the Empire wanted was extracted from him."

"Extracted how, exactly?" Tucker interjected, discomfited by the unspoken implication of torture.

The Romulan hesitated as if uncertain whether to reveal anything further. Archer looked like he wanted to attack the man, and S'Trep noticed the hostility. He responded with a wry, bitter grin.

"I suppose I have already betrayed my people," he sighed. "The Empire has a device known as a mind probe, which is used to extract information directly from the mind of a willing or unwilling victim. Malcolm was interrogated with this device, but for some reason it failed. I do not know why for certain. Yet despite repeated failures, the Captain of the ship would not give up his efforts."

"And what happened to Malcolm when this – probe, was used?" Archer asked. The Romulan winced.

"It is not a kind instrument, Captain. Lieutenant Reed suffered great psychological and neural trauma from the probe and…other interrogation measures, on the _Pritak_. I kept him alive, but he was not in good condition. I finally decided that I could not allow him to continue suffering in this way, so I helped him to escape. The Captain of the _Pritak_ owned a small private vessel which could be launched without alerting the bridge crew. I was able to steal this vessel and escape with it. It is the one in your shuttlebay now."

"Where is he now?"

"We were captured by the Orions," S'Trep said, sounding defeated. "I was separated from him. I managed to overpower my guard and escape by activating my shuttle's cloaking device, but I had no way to retrieve Malcolm."

"Yew just left him?" Tucker asked angrily.

"There was nothing else I could do!" the Romulan protested. "I thought perhaps I had a chance of finding help for him if I left, but there was nothing I could do for him otherwise. As you see by my presence here, I was correct."

It was a fair point. Tucker glowered suspiciously at the Romulan man. The whole story sounded a touch too convenient, too arranged. Although everything the Romulan had said could very well be true and Tucker could not detect any inconsistencies, he was not yet prepared to accept it fully. He had a feeling the Romulan was hiding details to cushion his own guilt in Reed's mistreatment.

"If you wish to get your officer back in any kind of condition, Captain, you must hurry," S'Trep said. "When I escaped, I was forced to take measures to temporarily repair some of the neural damage. I was able to modify the probe enough to use it to isolate his centres of both long- and short-term memory from all connection with other regions of his brain. He had become unstable and violent, constantly believing he was under interrogation. I had no choice but to temporarily block his access to the memories that were resurfacing. Unfortunately, it also means that he cannot remember anything of his former life until the block is removed or breaks down on its own."

Tucker swallowed hard against the rising bile in his throat. He tried not to think of Reed panicking, thinking he was being tortured. Unable to tell what was real and what was not. He heard Phlox's voice distantly.

"Why do you say we must hurry?"

"The block will not last very long. I do not know exactly how long, but when it breaks down he will revert to his former delusional state. The longer he is in that condition, the greater the risk that he will injure himself, and the lower the chance of repairing his neural network. I had hoped that you would have some means to safely remove the block and help restore the damaged areas."

The glance that Phlox exchanged with Archer told Tucker quite clearly that there was no such procedure. Archer did not remark on this, however.

"The first thing is to get him back. You said he is being held by the Orions?" At S'Trep's nod, Archer continued. "Where is he? Can you help us locate him?"

* * *

Archer called an emergency meeting of the senior staff, minus Phlox, who insisted upon staying in Sickbay to care for the wounded Romulan. On T'Pol's insistence, the security team had been left waiting outside Sickbay on Phlox's call, should they be needed. Although most of the senior staff had been present when S'Trep told his story, Archer related it briefly for the benefit of Sato and Mayweather. Both of the Ensigns were nearly wild to learn what had happened. Tucker suspected that the rest of the bridge crew was equally eager to hear news of Reed, but for now they would have to wait.

"The Romulan's name is S'Trep," Archer said. "He claims he was a doctor on board a Romulan Empire vessel where Malcolm was held and interrogated for several weeks. He says," Archer continued over the two Ensigns' shock, "that he helped Malcolm escape from the Romulan ship. They were captured by Orions, but S'Trep managed to escape."

"Why was Malcolm with the Romulans?" Sato asked. Her voice was high with shock.

"I don't know," Archer said. Tucker had to bite his tongue at the half-lie. "S'Trep said that he was sold to the Romulans."

"Sold!"

"I don't know," Archer repeated irritably. "All I know is what S'Trep told us."

 _Which you're not telling all of._ Tucker wondered if Archer was intentionally leaving out important details, or if he was simply too overwhelmed to think clearly.

"Captain, do you believe S'Trep is speaking the truth?" T'Pol asked levelly.

"Maybe." Archer sighed. "I don't know what to think, T'Pol. What reason would he have to make up a story like that?"

"He may be a spy. The Romulan Star Empire is a dangerous enemy that we know little about. The encounters that Vulcans have had with this species shows them to be aggressive, unpredictable, and secretive."

"We've already met, T'Pol," Archer pointed out. "I'd say that description fits pretty well."

That had been a nightmarish day. Once or twice, Tucker had thought Archer might actually take the ship to warp with Malcolm pinned down to the outside of the hull.

"It doesn't matter," Tucker broke in impatiently. "We don't know if he's tellin' the truth. But how would he know about Malcolm if he was lyin'?"

"Another thing, Captain." Sato was still extremely pale, but looked determined. "He used a Starfleet frequency to broadcast a distress call. If it wasn't from – from Malcolm, I'd like to know where he got that."

Tucker shot Sato a silent thanks, grateful to have someone backing him up. Prior to the staff meeting he had not even considered the possibility that Archer might decide to do nothing. Now, it seemed that T'Pol at least was hell-bent on convincing him not to take action.

"Captain, I would advise you not to take the Romulan's word." Covan leaned forward earnestly. "The Romulans are a dangerous and deceptive species. It is likely that he may be leading you into a trap. My people have had many encounters with the Romulan species, and they have never dealt fairly with us."

"What the hell would they want from us?" Tucker demanded angrily, throwing his hands up in frustration. He glared across the table at Covan. Sato would forgive him; this was a legitimate reason to be angry with the Andorian. "Their technology is superior to ours. They've already had one chance at us, and they didn't even try anythin'. They just wanted us to clear off. What th' hell makes yew think they'd send a spy to trick us into some kinda trap? Why would they want t' trap us? I can't see any reason not to believe him."

That was a complete lie. Tucker could think of a myriad of reasons off the top of his head not to trust the Romulan, and if he considered more closely he could almost certainly find some cause the Romulans might have to lay an ambush for the Enterprise.

Covan flushed a darker shade of blue. Tucker could see him trying to stay calm. "Perhaps my word might be a good reason not to believe him, Commander. I assure you, he does not have our best interest in mind."

"And I don't think you have Malcolm's best interests in mind!" Tucker shot back hotly. "I don't think he's lyin', whatever yew say."

Covan's antennae flattened slowly back like the ears of an angry dog. "I did not say he was lying," he hissed. "Perhaps if you would take a moment to think, you would consider a reason that the Romulans might have an interest in your ship now that they did not have before. The last time you encountered them, they had not been interrogating one of your officers for weeks!"

Trip slammed a hand on the table in front of him. "Malcolm's not a traitor!"

The irony of his words made him falter. He was furious at Covan and did not believe the explanation, but neither did his words carry weight even in his own mind. Archer intervened.

"Gentlemen, that is enough! This is not a time to be fighting amongst yourselves! You are senior officers, please behave as such!"

Tucker and Covan both subsided into glaring silence.

"According to S'Trep, the interrogation methods used by the Romulans failed," T'Pol reminded. "However, I must agree with Lieutenant Covan."

They had reached a stalemate. Tucker sighed in exasperation. This argument could continue in circles for hours.

"Does it matter if he's lying?" Mayweather asked, breaking the tense silence. "Surely we can't do nothing. If there's even a chance that Malcolm is still alive, we can't just ignore it."

* * *

Archer paced restlessly about the empty ready room, trapped by his own responsibility. He'd ordered the senior staff out of the room to give himself space to think. Tucker and Covan's obvious hostility grated on his nerves. He couldn't concentrate with them glaring at each other across the table.

S'Trep's arrival and story had caught him completely off guard. In the first few days after Reed's disappearance, Archer had held out hope of finding some trace of him. But as time passed, this hope had gradually faded. He'd come to accept that he would never truly know what had become of his officer. But now, all that had changed. Not only did he have word of Reed, but apparently the man was within reach – if S'Trep was to be believed.

Therein lay the problem. Archer trusted the judgement of both his first officer and, to a lesser extent, his new tactical officer. However, there was logic in Sato's words and in Tucker's, too. How would the Romulan have come to possess a Starfleet frequency if he had never encountered Reed? Moreover, how could he have invented such a story if there was no truth in it? It was possible that S'Trep was lying. But Archer, for his part, was by no means convinced of that. The story he had told was simply too implausible to be a complete lie. And, in a gruesome kind of way, it did tally with what Archer already knew. A man named Harris…he ground his teeth until he realised what he was doing, then stopped. He was infuriated by the treachery that S'Trep had described, but at this point there was very little Harris could do that would surprise Archer. The man was utterly without scruples.

 _So are you_ , Archer's bruised conscience whispered back at him. _What has Harris done that is so horrible? Clone murder? What a terrible crime…_

But to sell an agent, against his will and without his knowledge, into the hands of a hostile species to torture at their pleasure…

He brushed the dark rage aside in favour of more practical considerations. He had a choice to make, which could not be better advised by dwelling upon the unspeakable actions of Reed's former associate.

Archer considered, very briefly, the idea of placing a call to Admiral Gardner. He discarded the idea on second thought. The Admiral would no doubt dismiss his story out of hand and possibly think him delusional. No, this decision was up to him. He had to take responsibility for it; he would be the one defending his actions later.

But was the choice really his? By voluntarily leaving, hadn't Reed chosen to forsake his allegiance to the Enterprise? He had forfeited the duty Archer owed him by leaving the Enterprise.

Always assuming that he _had_ left voluntarily.

Archer shook his head to clear it. This was absurd. Traitor or not, Reed had been his officer. It was his obligation to protect Reed if he was innocent, or to bring him to justice if he was not. Surely, even on a lead which could quite possibly be a trap, it was his duty to attempt to retrieve Reed if there were the slightest chance of doing so.

He tried to tell himself that the renewed anger at Reed's desertion had nothing to do with his desire to find the man, but in the privacy of his empty ready room he could not completely deny the truth.

It did not matter, Archer told himself, what exactly his motives were. This was the right thing to do.

* * *

At T'Pol's hail, Archer joined the Vulcan in Sickbay, where she and Covan had spent the better part of the past hour with S'Trep, working over a starchart.

Between S'Trep's translation of his ship's records over the past few days and T'Pol's understanding of Vulcan starcharts, they had located the planet on which the Orion ship had dropped its prisoners. Nearby, Tucker sat on the edge of a biobed. He'd joined them not so much because he could be of any help, as because he wanted to hear in person if S'Trep had any more information to divulge. He did not want to hear the Romulan's words filtered through the biased Andorian tactical officer.

"There's no reason to believe that Malcolm is still there," S'Trep cautioned the four senior officers, after T'Pol finished her brief summary of their calculations. "I suspect the Orions have taken him to a slave market, in which case it is likely that he has already been sold."

"It's a starting point," Archer said.

"It will take approximately four hours to reach these coordinates," T'Pol said. Tucker could tell that she had not warmed to the idea of pursuing S'Trep's lead. However, Archer's decision was final and no argument on her part was likely to alter his course of action now.

"Very well," Archer said with a nod. "Senior staff, I want you in my ready room. Only the people here now." He glanced around tiredly. "I'll have to make an crew announcement," he added as an afterthought, to himself.

Tucker didn't like Archer leaving Sato and Mayweather out of the staff meeting, but he kept his silence.

"Captain, may I have a word with you?" Phlox recalled Archer's attention as the others filed out of Sickbay.

"Can it wait?" Archer frowned, already halfway to the door through which his staff had already disappeared.

"I believe it may be relevant." Phlox's eyes flicked briefly but meaningfully toward the Romulan. "I suspect Medic S'Trep may have been exposed to a contagious pathogen during his stay on the Orion vessel. It may be best to keep him in…solitary confinement, until I can ascertain more about his condition."

"Will this be a problem? Do you need to inoculate us?"

"I do not believe we have cause for concern yet. He has displayed no symptoms so far. However, it is possible that he may become a danger."

It was an extremely strange turn of phrase, in context. Archer had the distinct impression that Phlox was trying to tell him something and wanted him to read between the lines. Unfortunately, he didn't have time for games. "Very well, Doctor. Do as you see fit."

"Captain –" Phlox started as he headed for the door, but Archer would not be delayed.

"I'll speak with you later, Phlox."

The door closed behind him. The Denobulan heaved a weary sigh at the impatience of humans in general.

A powerful grip seized his head from behind. Phlox gave a muted squawk of protest, but the hand over his mouth prevented him from being heard by the security team just outside the door.

"My mind to your mind," S'Trep hissed. "My thoughts to your thoughts."


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: If wishes were fishes...

* * *

From behind a stack of rotting crates piled up against one wall of the marketplace, Reed lay and watched.

It had been surprisingly easy to enter the building unnoticed. The Orions were far more concerned about keeping people in than out, and there were several unguarded doors behind the auction platforms. Reed had slipped carefully in and hidden himself behind the nearest concealment he could find. It was not a bad hiding place when he lay flat on his stomach. For the moment, he was forced to deal with the severe discomfort of having his burned side in contact with the concrete floor. The floor was probably swarming with countless bacteria, but infection would kill him less quickly than an Orion with a disruptor pistol.

The auctions appeared to be over for the day. Trade went on, but negotiations were conducted down among the lines of cages rather than on platforms. Reed looked around for the Denobulans and at length found them in a different cage than they had been in that morning. He was equal parts relieved and disappointed to see them – relieved that they had not been sold, but disappointed at their new location. The previous cage had not been far from the wall of the marketplace, but now they were almost in the center of the large building. With the place busy as it was for the entirety of the day and night, he would have no opportunity to reach them unobserved, and even if he did he would certainly not be able to use the disruptor to cut through the bars of the cage without anyone seeing. He needed a distraction of some kind.

The Romulan woman had not been moved. She was sitting upright and still, waiting for her fate. Her cage was marginally closer to the wall than the Denobulans'.

Reed studied the situation. He felt it would be best to wait until dusk at the very earliest, when the buyers of the day would be leaving but the activities of the night would not yet be in full swing to bring fresh crowds swarming amongst the cages. On the one hand, it would be easier to go unnoticed among a crowd; on the other hand, he was wearing the garments of a slave, had clearly just been in a fight, and would be attempting to break out several prisoners. Better for the place not to be too packed. The cover of darkness would also help once they made it outside – if they made it that far.

Breaking the Denobulans out was the most immediate problem, but it was far from the only one. After they were outside, where could they go? Reed wished he'd been able to gain a better idea of the layout of the surrounding roads. However, venturing back out would increase his risk of being spotted. In addition, there was always the possibility of Fenzin and Ayaila being sold while Reed was gone. He would have no idea where they were. If he stayed here to watch he would at least be able to follow if they were sold.

He would be able to follow one of them, he reminded himself. There was little question in his mind of which of the Denobulans he would stay with.

He required a distraction. Reed considered his disruptor pistol thoughtfully. If a shot or two was fired into the crowd from an unknown location, sufficient chaos might result to allow him a few minutes of cover. That had its own dangers, however. If his shots went wide he might kill one of the prisoners. Someone might notice the source of the shots. The disruptor might not have enough charge left to cut through heavy metal bars.

As he lay behind the decomposing crates, Reed became aware of several unforeseen difficulties. Now that he was lying still and was, for the moment, comparatively safe, he realized that he was absolutely exhausted. He did not know how he had gone without sleep, but it had to be well over twenty-four hours. He kept having to blink his eyes forcefully open as they drifted shut. He couldn't allow himself the luxury of rest.

Besides simple weariness, he was beginning to feel weak with hunger. He had not eaten since disembarking the Orion ship a day and a half previously, and he was feeling it. His mouth was parched. Unfortunately, any attempt to meet his physical needs would require him to move away from his hiding place.

He would survive. He had gone hungry and thirsty and without sleep for longer than this – probably. Without distinct memory of anything before S'Trep had woken him on the Romulan ship, Reed could not be sure. But the sensation of gnawing hunger and total exhaustion was not unfamiliar. He could put up with it.

The sickly-sweet scent of rotting wood around him was soporific. Reed dozed and woke with a start perhaps a dozen times, each time swearing not to allow himself to let down his guard again. It was no use. Despite his hunger and the throbbing pain in his side, the fatigue was overpowering.

He could not afford not to be alert. He had one available recourse to keep himself awake. Reed clenched his teeth to brace himself against the impending pain and scraped the heel of his hand firmly across his disruptor wound.

That woke him quite effectively.

* * *

"No. Absolutely not." For the first time that he could remember, Tucker was entirely in agreement with Covan, and he didn't even mind. "Cap'n, yer not goin' down there."

"It is too dangerous, Captain," Covan insisted. Archer's jaw set stubbornly and Tucker felt that Covan's words had been poorly chosen.

"Malcolm is _my_ officer," the Captain insisted. Tucker wondered in what context that was meant – did it imply protective feelings towards Reed, or a possessive claim over his person? The last five weeks had demonstrated, if nothing else, that Reed was not as much Archer's officer as anyone had thought.

"We're not gonna let you go," he said testily. "There's a price on yer head down there! Besides, someone's got to stay with the ship an' it might as well be you."

"And it might as well be someone else," Archer snapped. "I'm not staying behind for your peace of mind."

"Captain," T'Pol said quietly, "I cannot allow you to go on this away mission."

Archer turned a look of shocked betrayal on her. "T'Pol!"

"It is Starfleet protocol," T'Pol said with equanimity, "that in hostage situations involving a member of a starship's senior staff, the Captain will not participate in rescue attempts."

That sounded like absolute bullshit to Tucker. If there was such a regulation, he had never heard of it. Perhaps T'Pol had written it herself in the last few minutes. _Vulcans don't lie, my ass._ Moreover, Reed was certainly no longer a member of the Enterprise's senior staff, nor of her crew at all. However, Tucker was perfectly ready to jump on any reason for Archer to stay on the Enterprise during this particular away mission.

T'Pol, the engineer knew, was still highly suspicious of the Romulan's story. But although there were no records of a slave market in the vicinity that S'Trep believed, T'Pol had admitted that Orion establishments were poorly recorded and tended to shift locations quite frequently. She had thoroughly emphasized the fact that there was no particular reason to believe that the Romulan was speaking truthfully, but Archer had overruled her. Now, he seemed less ready to do so.

"T'Pol, you know very well that I've gone on hostage rescue missions before. And Malcolm isn't a senior officer on this ship anymore. We don't even know if he's down there, because we can't scan the damn planet! This is a reconnaissance mission."

Much to the frustration of all involved in the rescue efforts, the planet was equipped with sensor shielding. According to T'Pol, this was not an uncommon tactic of the Orions. Unfortunately, it meant that from orbit, they had no idea what was waiting below. They'd have to take a shuttle down and hope that S'Trep was to be trusted. Communications with the Enterprise would also be limited. From the shuttle itself they would have contact, but the signal from handheld devices was too weak to make it through the sensor shielding. Transporters wouldn't be an option either. Tucker didn't much like the idea of going down to an unknown place on a rescue mission with a great deal of their technology rendered useless, and he certainly didn't intend to let the Captain down there. T'Pol was in full agreement.

"I will go myself, Captain," the Vulcan said. "But I must insist that you remain on the Enterprise." A note of steel in her voice suggested that she would enforce her policy one way or another, regardless of the Captain's personal opinion. Archer glared fruitlessly at her for several seconds before subsiding.

"T'Pol, I don't think it's wise for you to go either," Covan pointed out. "Surely the Orions know that Vulcans are their sworn enemies? We'll only arouse their suspicions further if we have a Vulcan with us. Commander Tucker and I should lead the mission."

"Very well." Archer conceded at last. "Trip, you'll command the away mission. Covan, pick four people for a security team."

That was an arrangement Trip could live with.

* * *

A slight commotion by the door drew Reed's attention. It seemed that one of the guards objected to a particular customer entering and was trying to dissuade them from doing so. The customer, it seemed, was particularly persuasive, because after a short time the guard backed down and moved out of the way.

It was not one person but a party, which in itself was unusual. As far as Reed had observed, buyers typically came and went singly or in pairs. When occasionally customers came in a group it was nearly always a single buyer trailing a few of his own slaves or bodyguards behind him.

None of this group was subservient to the others: that much was immediately clear. There were six of them. Five of them were humans, dressed in a strange single-piece blue uniform with long sleeves and legs. Red stripes outlined the shoulders of the uniform. The last was an Andorian in the same uniform.

Reed watched them with great curiosity. Perhaps it was merely that five of them were of his own species, but he felt a strange affinity for the group. They did not seem to be customers. Two of the younger men kept glancing around with barely-concealed horror in their expressions and the Andorian's antennae were laid back against his skull, a sure sign of distress. The others demonstrated more control, but it was clear to Reed that they had not, upon entering, been prepared for the sights and sounds that met them. No, these were certainly not buyers.

Reed was struck with the powerful impression that these people would help him if only he had an opportunity to talk with them and explain the situation. He felt a strange urge to break his cover and make straight for them, trusting them to offer protection against the inevitable fury of the Orions. He frowned in consternation. That was simply absurd. He had only seen them for perhaps two minutes total, and at a distance. He had absolutely no way to judge who or what these people were. For all he knew they could be no different from the Orions.

Still, they did not have the look of slavers.

Reed adjusted himself carefully to get a better angle from which to view the strange party as they moved slowly among the cages. He hardly noticed the refreshed pain in his side as he moved. It had begun to bleed a bit from his repeated prodding to keep himself awake, but the cauterization from the disruptor bolt's heat had largely held. He squinted through the cracks in the dry, rotting wood.

The party was moving slowly and keeping close together. They looked around as they walked as if they were searching for something. A few of them held some kind of small handheld scanning device. Occasionally Reed lost sight of them between the cages. They were attracting a lot of attention, he saw with a thrill of anticipation. The market was gradually falling quiet. Ripples of hush in the buzz of business spread out from the epicenter of the disturbance. Many of the customers were migrating into a quickly-growing mass behind the strange little group. The buyers of the market had sensed the same thing Reed had: that these people were of a different stock. They were not slavers. They were from a society above slavery. They were a dangerous disruption to the filthy machinations of the market. They were a threat. The buyers were preparing to defend their own way of life.

* * *

Tucker sensed the tension in the air as soon as he stepped into the building.

That was not unexpected, given the reception they'd had from the Orion guard. The man had questioned them about their business and tried to refuse them entry, immediately suspicious. Perhaps they looked too respectable for such an establishment. He was glad that T'Pol had not accompanied the mission. Probably they would have been refused entry outright if there was a Vulcan with them.

He was not surprised by the disturbance they caused, but he had little time to dwell on it.

The building was, or had once been, a warehouse, about a quarter of a mile in length and half that in width. The walls were built mostly of wood, with concrete pillars here and there to support the ceiling, which was corrugated metal over wooden rafters. The floor was bare concrete. Against the far walls were several empty wooden platforms.

The main part of the floor was covered in row after row of barred metal cages, and inside the cages were the prisoners.

Tucker had known that this was a slave market. The knowledge had in no way prepared him for this sight. The prisoners were caged like animals, two or three in each cage and in some cases more. Many of them were naked. Most of them were bruised or bleeding. A number lay on the floor unmoving, and Tucker wondered if they were dead. At the commotion by the door, a few of the prisoners had looked up cautiously, but the majority seemed to barely notice their surroundings.

Much as Tucker wanted to find Reed, he did not want to find him _here._

"Come on," he said softly to the others, and started carefully forward into the throng of staring buyers.

* * *

Reed could have laughed with relief and hope. He had spent hours studying what kind of a distraction he could create, and without his involvement at all a better distraction had come than he could ever have devised. When this situation erupted into violence – and by Reed's estimation it was more of a "when" than an "if" – he would have all the cover he needed.

The blond man in the lead had a troubled expression as he glanced around. Either he detected the menacing undercurrents of the gathering crowd, or, like his companions, he was disturbed by the sights around him. Reed thought it was foolish of anyone to be so surprised by the atrocity of the Orions and their customers.

As he looked around, the man's blue eyes flicked over the pile of rotting crates and for just a split second his gaze snagged on Reed's. Reed felt the breath go out of him. He _knew_ that face, surely he had seen this man somewhere? In that fraction of time everything about this group seemed amazingly familiar: their uniforms, their manner, their faces…then the man's gaze moved on and Reed was left stunned by the intensity of the impression. The blond man had not noticed anything strange about the pile of crates.

Reed tried to provoke recognition again by looking at each face in turn, but the strange sensation did not return. He bit his lip in frustration before scolding himself for his wandering attention. It mattered not at all who these people were beyond the question of whether they would provide him with the opportunity he needed.

One of the Orion auctioneers approached the group. He towered over all of them, his disruptor pistol prominent on his hip. The blond man spoke briefly to him. Reed could not make out what they said, but whatever it was had several of the slavers fingering their weapons. The Orion grew visibly angry. The blond man did not back down.

Reed could not say who made the first threatening move: one moment the atmosphere was tense but controlled, and the next moment both sides were bristling with weapons in each other's faces. Very slowly Reed brought his knees up beneath him, preparing to sprint from his hiding spot.

"Alright, take it easy!" the blond man was shouting. "We're gettin' outta here. No need for all this!" The little group started backing slowly out, weapons raised, through the crowd around them.

* * *

The customers parted to let Tucker and his companions through. Crewman Alex and Covan had pulled out hand scanners. Tucker tried to look around at the prisoners without letting himself think about what he was seeing. He was looking for one face, and one face only.

"I haven't got much range," Covan murmured to Tucker. "There's a dampening field of some kind in here."

 _Shit._ "Got it." This wouldn't be fast. They would need time to search. Unfortunately, time was the one thing they didn't have. Tucker glanced around the edges of the building to locate any other available exits. He didn't like how far the nearest doors were.

An enormous green-skinned Orion man came forward to block their way. He was very obviously armed with a disruptor on one side of his belt and a knife on the other.

"Are you buying or selling?"

Sato's calibration of the portable universal translators, using the Vulcan database's information on the Orion language, seemed to function flawlessly. "Neither," Tucker said warily, knowing that was the wrong answer but reluctant to commit to "buying" when he did not know if Reed was here. He wanted to buy every wretched prisoner in the entire complex, but that was impossible. "We're looking for someone. A human."

The Orion crossed his arms over his chest. "We don't deal in humans. We don't deal with them, either."

"I'd like to take a look around, if you don't mind."

The Orion glared down at him. Tucker sensed motion in the crowd around him. Several of the slavers had dropped their hands to their weapons.

"This isn't a real estate showing," the Orion rumbled. "If you're not buying or selling, you're not staying."

"We'll leave as soon as we've searched," Tucker said firmly.

"You'll leave now."

Someone breathed too loudly, or twitched, or looked the wrong way at someone else, and in half a second a circle of weapons surrounded them. Tucker felt Covan and the rest of the team draw their phase pistols in response.

"Let's go," Covan said quietly. "We can't force this."

Tucker seethed inwardly, but he understood the Andorian's point. They could not search for Reed while fighting dozens of armed aliens. Much as he wanted to try, it was too much risk.

"Alright, take it easy," he said to the Orion, raising his voice to force the attention of the surrounding crowd onto him. "We're gettin' outta here. No need for all this!"

* * *

They got about three metres before someone fired.

The marketplace exploded into a cacophony of screaming and weapons fire. Reed sprang up and made to dart out from his hiding spot. Dehydrated, hungry, and stiff from lying still for so long, it took him several steps to get his balance. He ran as fast as his injured side would allow into the rows of slave cages. Most of the slaves were cowering on the ground in fear of stray shots from the energy weapons. Few of them even noticed Reed passing as he took the fastest open path to the Denobulans' cage. Ayaila was flat on her stomach with Fenzin beside her. The older Denobulan had placed himself between his niece and the ongoing fight, covering her as much as he could.

Reed knelt by the cage and pressed the muzzle of his disruptor against one of the bars. The first shot sent tremors through the cage and weakened the metal, which nonetheless resisted Reed's efforts to snap it off. He fired again and the bar gave way at his next heave. He lifted the muzzle of the disruptor a few feet and fired at the bar again, higher up. This time a single shot was enough for him to bend the bar out of the way.

"Fire!" a voice screamed above the sounds of shouting and weapons fire. _"Fire!"_ Reed looked up to see the pile of crates he had hid behind going up in flames. He knew immediately what had happened. A stray disruptor blast must have struck the pile. The wood, dry and rotting with age, was perfect tinder.

The wall against which the crates leaned was wooden. The fire licked hungrily at the side of the building. The prisoners nearest the blaze were panicking, tearing futilely at the bars of their cages. Their fear was infectious to both the other prisoners and to the slavers.

"Malcolm!" Reed glanced down to see Fenzin staring up at him in blank astonishment. "Malcolm, what are you doing here?"

"Shut up," Reed growled. He fired into the next bar twice, ignoring Fenzin's violent flinch. A third shot allowed him to twist it aside. One more should be enough room to get them out; certainly for Ayaila, probably for Fenzin too. Smoke stung Reed's eyes. He could feel the heat from across the room. Someone stumbled over him unexpectedly and Reed cried out in agony as he fell heavily onto his injured side. He hauled himself upright, prepared to fight, but whoever it was had already fled. Reed broke through the final bar and reached into the cage.

"Fenzin, give her to me –"

"Malcolm, you're injured!" Fenzin exclaimed in shocked concern. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"Shut up, come on!" Reed shouted at him. "You're going to die if you don't! Give me Ayaila!"

"Come on, honey," Fenzin coaxed the frightened girl. "Go with Malcolm. Come on." He pulled her up gently and led her to the opening in the side of the cage. Malcolm grabbed her by the shoulders and dragged her through. Ayaila gasped as her skin scraped against the rough edges of the severed metal, still hot from disruptor fire, but she did not cry.

"Keep her safe," Fenzin pleaded. "Please, you must take care of her."

"Goddammit, you're coming with me." It would be a tight squeeze, but Reed thought he could get Fenzin out. "Come here."

"I don't know," Fenzin faltered. "I don't think I can get out, Malcolm."

The heat was rising. Reed looked up to see the fire licking at the rafters of the ceiling. The smoke was thick; he could no longer see what had become of the fight. The brightness and roar of the fire overpowered any sight or sound of energy weapons.

"This whole place is going up!" Reed screamed at him. "You're going to die!" Behind him, Ayaila had begun to cough from the smoke. Reed was acutely aware of the increasing toxicity of the heavy air.

"I don't know," Fenzin said again, but he came forward to the opening and cautiously slid his shoulders into it. Reed seized him under the arms and heaved. It was indeed a close fit. Fenzin squealed in pain as the jagged metal cut into him. He flopped awkwardly onto the floor and staggered upright, clutching at a deep and bloody cut on his leg. Ayaila attached herself to his arm.

"Come on!" Reed took Fenzin by the wrist and started towards the nearest door away from the fire.

Something compelled him to look back.

The Romulan woman of the previous day stood against the bars of her cage, staring back at him. She was at the very edge of the fire's spreading range, but though the heat must have been tremendous, she did not look afraid.

"Go!" Reed shouted in Fenzin's ear, pointing to the door and hoping that the Denobulan's wayward survival instincts would do the rest. He took off for the Romulan's cage. In the hazy smoke that was by now almost blinding, he stumbled heavily over something soft. It was a body. As Reed pushed himself back up, something sharp pricked his hand. The dead alien's knife slid out of its sheath and he snatched it up.

Heat and smoke tore at Reed's face as he reached the cage. Flames were already licking at the back of it, a scarce ten feet away. He felt for the bars and fired indiscriminately at them. With Vulcan-like strength, the Romulan wrenched the first bar entirely off before Reed had even finished. The moment the second came free, she launched herself powerfully at the opening, twisting her body sideways to give herself as much space as possible. Reed took her hands and dragged her through when the jagged ends of the bars caught on her sides. They ran.

Prisoners cried out for help as Reed and the Romulan passed. Hands brushed at his clothes through the bars of the cages. When they were out of the immediate range of the flames Reed hesitated, torn between making good the escape and trying to free others. It was the Romulan's turn to drag him along by the wrist. Reed followed, trying to shut his mind to the despairing wails behind him.

A high-pitched, childish scream rang out from the smoke ahead. Reed heard Fenzin's voice: he was pleading. As they drew near, Reed saw the hulking form of an Orion standing over the fallen Denobulan man, holding Ayaila by one arm. It was the very same Orion that he had driven away from the Denobulans only the previous night.

Reed felt someone snatch at his hand. The Romulan woman sprang past him and charged straight into the Orion guard, burying her hands into its stomach. The guard dropped Ayaila and staggered. It clutched at its stomach as the Romulan backed away. Reed did not understand until he saw the knife in her hands.

* * *

Choking on the smoke, Tucker stumbled out of the marketplace and into cleaner air outside. He looked around wildly for the rest of the security team, but in the panicked crowd it was difficult to make out faces. Crewman Foster stumbled out of the packed mass, followed a moment later by two other members of the security team.

"Where's Covan and Alex?" Tucker shouted over the chaos, but no answer was forthcoming. He turned back toward the burning building. The crowd had begun to thin around the door, with most of the slavers already evacuated to a safe distance.

Through the haze of smoke and sparks against the orange glow, Tucker saw a blue-clad figure stagger out of the door, weighed down by the burden of another body on its back. He sprinted forward into the heat. Covan, his ash-blackened face streaked with blue where sweat had cleaned it, carried Alex across his back in a modified fireman's carry. Tucker helped lift the limp body off the Andorian. He slung one of Alex's arms across his shoulders. Covan took the other.

"What happened?" Tucker had to yell to be heard over the roar of the fire as they ran back toward the other members of the security detail.

"Shot – I think," Covan gasped. Tucker noticed that he had one arm wrapped awkwardly around the injured human so that his hand was pressed against Alex's chest. Dark fluid oozed between the Andorian's blue fingers.

Between them, Tucker and Covan supported the unconscious human back towards the waiting shuttlepod as two of the security team rushed to help them. Foster ran ahead to the shuttlepod.

They had set down on a wide slab of concrete slightly more than an eighth of a mile from the front entrance of the marketplace. It had seemed a short distance on the inbound journey. Now, it seemed an interminable length. Tucker was acutely aware of the blood bubbling out from under Covan's hand.

Foster had the shuttlepod door open and was waiting with first aid supplies when they reached the pod. Alex was lifted onto the deck of the craft, where Foster and one of the others began slicing his uniform off while the fourth member of the team applied pressure to the wound in Alex's chest. Exhausted, Covan stumbled against the side of the shuttle. His antennae sagged limply to either side. Tucker hauled him upright and helped him into the craft, slamming the door behind them. He pushed the Andorian down into the copilot's seat and began the shuttle's launch sequence.

"I need a copilot!" he called over the shouts of the others in the back as they fought to stop Alex bleeding out. Covan, however, was distracted by something entirely different.

"Commander!" The blue streaks on the Andorian's face looked pale as he held up his hand scanner. It took Tucker long seconds to understand what Covan was trying to tell him.

On the screen of the hand scanner, a biosign registered: one human life sign. Proximity 0.3 miles.

Tucker froze, torn in an impossible quandary. Reed was here, on this planet, not even half a mile away. He felt sure the biosign could be no one but Reed. Meanwhile, in the back of the craft, three men battled for the life of another crewman. Time was precious, and every second that they were not on the Enterprise brought Alex a second closer to death. It was an impossible choice. Tucker turned helplessly toward Covan and found the Andorian waiting on his orders.

"Dammit!" Tucker swore, punching in the last of the launch sequence with shaking hands. "Hail the Enterprise. Tell them we're coming in with wounded."

Somewhere back in that building, Reed was trapped in a cage, waiting to be burned to death. Waiting for the whole damn place to come down around him. Beside him, Tucker could hear Covan calling in to the Enterprise, his voice unsteady with either weariness or shock. Almost blinded with frustration and grief, Tucker wrenched back on the throttle, lifting the shuttle off the ground and turning it upward toward the safety of the ship waiting far above.

* * *

Reed lifted Ayaila from the concrete floor and slung her over his back. He couldn't be sure if she was injured or simply dazed, but there was not time to worry about that. He could hardly breathe from the smoke. The Romulan pulled Fenzin to his feet.

They left the mortally injured Orion and fled the burning building. Most of it was already engulfed in flames and as they reached the door the further portion of the roof collapsed, sending a spray of sparks, ash, and scalding air into their backs. Reed almost stumbled, but kept his footing with difficulty.

They did not stop running until the air around them was cool and sweet with the absence of smoke. Half a mile behind them, the slave market was a bright torch against the nearly darkened sky. _You could see that from space,_ Reed thought, and followed the absent idea no further. He led them off the main street and stopped behind a building. Fenzin hurried forward with a cry of dismay to take Ayaila in his arms.

Reed's knees buckled and he fell hard on all fours, gasping for breath around the biting burn of his injured side. The disruptor clattered away from him and although a small part of his mind clamored at him for carelessness and told him to retrieve it, his body rebelled. Now that they were safe he did not know how he had made it this far. With a groan he lowered himself onto the cool pavement with shaking arms. He could go no further.

Through glazed eyes he could see the Romulan bending over Ayaila while Fenzin hovered nearby. After a moment, the Romulan gently raised the girl into a sitting position. Reed saw the Denobulan child reach out for her uncle. He was too tired to smile, but relief washed gently over him. His efforts had not been in vain.

The bright ball of a disruptor bolt hit the Romulan squarely in the back as she straightened. She fell forward with a grunt onto the concrete as Fenzin gasped. All awareness of exhaustion and pain gone, Reed flipped over onto his back just as the metal implant on his neck shot a paralyzing blast of electricity through his body. Every muscle seized. Reed's vision blurred and returned only after a second's blackness.

From the other side of a disruptor pistol pointed directly at Reed's chest, Entek looked down at him with an expression of pure hatred.

* * *

A/N: I don't know how anyone can keep reading this story...it's like you think there's still a way for it to end happily.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I still don't own Star Trek.

* * *

Tucker felt numb.

He sat on the end of a biobed in Sickbay, listening to the muted voices of Phlox and Crewman Cutler behind the curtains portioning off one corner of the room. Behind those curtains a life-and-death struggle raged, and there was nothing he could do but pray.

Covan, still streaked in lines of ash and sweat, his uniform covered with grime and lightly singed in one or two spots where sparks had landed on it, sat on the floor against the biobed next to Tucker's. The Andorian, who as a Chief of Security had received basic medical training prior to his posting, had personally examined the remaining members of the security detail. Thankfully, none of them were injured beyond mild bruising and one first-degree burn from a disruptor bolt passing too close for comfort. Covan had dismissed them to their quarters with orders to speak to no one about the away mission until they had explicit permission from him to do so. Afterwards, he'd apparently not had even the energy to lift himself onto a biobed.

Much as he disliked the Andorian, Tucker had to admit to himself that Covan had done well. It was the first time he had seen the man under real pressure, and Covan had certainly proved himself capable of his job.

 _He's more capable to lead a security team than you_ , Tucker told himself. He hadn't even seen Alex go down. He had assumed the others were with him as he fled the burning building – an assumption which, if not for Covan, would certainly have led to Alex's death.

Not that his survival was by any means guaranteed now.

The hand scanner lay on the floor next to Covan, its frozen display still showing a single human life sign. Tucker stared down at it with the bitter taste of despair in his mouth. They had been so close to finding Reed. They had been within half a mile. Now, it was doubtful they would ever find any conclusive answer about his fate. A fire as large and hot as the one that had destroyed the slave market would not leave behind enough evidence for positive identification, even supposing they could search every inch of the ashes with a scanner.

But what other choice could he have made? To go back for Reed, who was probably by then condemned to the flames anyway, would have meant Alex's certain death. No, he could have done nothing else under the circumstances. That did not make the decision easier to live with.

Covan turned the scanner over onto its face, making Tucker raise his eyes to the Andorian's.

"You did the right thing, Commander." Covan's voice was slightly slurred with tiredness, but there was sincerity in his expression.

Tucker wanted to snap back that of course he had done the right thing, he knew that. He found neither the energy nor the malice toward the Andorian to give a sharp reply. He said nothing.

"It may not even be him," the tactical officer added. "It could be a malfunction. Or perhaps the Orions had some other human."

Tucker shook his head slowly. Either of those were potentially plausible explanations, but he did not believe them even for a moment. Instinct more than reason told him that it had been Reed, trapped somewhere in that damned building. It had been Reed, watching the fire come closer; despairing of escape.

"I'm sorry," Covan said softly. "I know he was a friend of yours."

There was no spite in either the Andorian's words or his face. Instead, Tucker thought he saw understanding. Perhaps Covan was not as oblivious as he seemed to the internal conflict his presence inspired in the engineer. Uncomfortable with the intimacy, Tucker averted his gaze.

"Thanks."

There was nothing either of them could do, now. Considerate as the apology might be, it was worth very little. Tucker would vastly have preferred to find Reed than to make peace with Reed's replacement. He supposed he ought to take what he could get, because that was precious little enough. At the moment, however, he was too numbed to feel any appreciation for Covan's proffered olive branch.

The door of Sickbay swished open, disturbing the relative peace. Archer hurried in, very pale, with a significantly more composed T'Pol at his heels. He stopped short upon seeing Tucker, then had to check an impulsive movement toward him.

"I didn't know who –" he said in a strained voice. Covan hauled himself upright with difficulty and leaned on the biobed for support.

"I apologize, Captain, that was my fault. I should have said sooner, but Ensign Sato patched me through to Sickbay before I thought to."

"It's Alex," Tucker said, answering the more practical question of the moment. "He was shot in the chest."

"Dammit," Archer swore quietly. "Damned –" he glanced around. "Where the hell is S'Trep?"

"Doctor Phlox saw no reason for him to remain in Sickbay for his entire recovery," T'Pol reminded. "He is in Phlox's quarters, since the Doctor rarely requires the use of the room."

"He wasn't lyin', Cap'n."

Archer fixed Tucker with a pained look. "Malcolm?"

In answer, Covan held out the hand scanner. It was still caked with Alex's blood, like the Andorian's hands. Archer stared down at the object as if he were being handed a snake.

"Human biosign," Tucker explained, in a voice that came perilously close to cracking. "He was in that place, Cap'n. I didn't see him, but he was there. Someone started firing and it all went t' hell. Disruptor bolt must'a hit some dry wood or somethin'. Th' whole place went up like a torch. There's nothin' left of it. Nothin'."

Archer raised a hand to his face, then dropped it. "Why were you fired on?"

"It wasn't an ambush, Captain," Covan answered, to Tucker's relief. "At least, not in the sense of anyone waiting for us to show up. The Orions and their – clientele, I suppose – they could tell as soon as we came in that we weren't there for the business they conduct. They saw us as a threat from the beginning. An Orion approached us to ask our business. Commander Tucker tried to explain the situation, but a number of the buyers in the market began to threaten us with weapons. We were leaving when they opened fire."

"I see." Archer glanced toward the curtained corner of Sickbay. Tucker could still hear low voices, though they now came infrequently. He didn't know if that was good or bad. "And Alex?"

"He was shot," Tucker explained, picking up the narrative. "I didn't see it happen." Covan shook his head briefly, indicating that he had not seen the shot, either. "I didn't realise he was down. Covan pulled him out."

"I almost fell over him," Covan admitted. "There was too much smoke to see anything. It was sheer luck that I found him. He was bleeding a lot from the chest. Commander Tucker helped me carry him back to the shuttle."

"Was anyone else hurt?" Archer asked. He seemed at last to notice his officers' weary and dishevelled state. "Are you alright?"

"The others are fine, Captain," Covan assured him. "Just a bit bruised. They're in their quarters."

"We're fine, Cap'n." Physically, anyway.

"I don't think it would be wise to send down another mission," Covan said, shooting an apologetic glance Tucker's way. "Even with this." He indicated the record on the scanner's screen. "I doubt we'd be warmly received."

"I'll take that under advisement." Archer was distracted. He had a hard time looking away from the scanner. "I'd like both of you to go get cleaned up. I want to debrief the whole team in half an hour."

At the moment, the thought of walking back to his quarters, showering, and changing into a clean uniform sounded overwhelming to Tucker. He wasn't even sure he could stand upright, much less do all that. Covan, too, looked like he was only upright through sheer willpower and significant support from the biobed.

Tucker's attention was distracted by movement of the curtains at the other end of Sickbay. Archer turned as Phlox emerged from the partitioned area. Tucker did not manage to catch a glimpse of anything behind the curtains. Archer did not ask, but the unspoken question hung heavy in the air.

"I'm sorry, Captain," Phlox said in a subdued voice. His shoulders were slumped.

So it had been all for nothing, Tucker thought. He would always wonder, now, whether there would have been even the slightest chance of saving Reed, had he made a different choice. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Covan slide slowly back down to the floor from his sagged position against the biobed. Archer's jaw clenched, but he regulated his reaction carefully.

"Thank you, doctor. I'm sure you did everything you could."

After a short, respectful silence, he turned back to the two weary officers. "Thirty minutes, gentlemen," he said quietly.

The task of getting cleaned up no longer seemed too much to ask. Alex had given his life so that the others could have that privilege – so they could return to the Enterprise, clean off the memory of the disastrous mission, and continue on with their lives. Tucker slid off the biobed and offered Covan a hand up. The Andorian's hand was sticky with blood.

"Doctor, if you would make the necessary preparations," Archer said as Tucker and Covan left Sickbay. Alex's body would need to be readied for transportation back to his family on Earth.

"Of course, Captain."

"Thank you."

T'Pol was waiting by the door. Archer turned to go, but on second thought he looked back to Phlox.

"Doctor, was there something you wanted to discuss with me? Something about S'Trep?"

The Denobulan looked faintly puzzled. "I don't believe so, Captain."

"I'm quite sure you did. It was last time I spoke with you, before the away mission. You said something about a contagion he was exposed to on the Orion ship?"

"Ah, that. Just an error on my part, I'm afraid. I'm not familiar with Romulan physiology. S'Trep is quite well. I regret if I caused you concern, Captain."

Archer frowned, the recollection of Phlox's strange words still nagging at him in a way he did not fully understand. _It is possible that he may become a danger_ , the doctor had said. A very odd way to phrase a concern about a pathogen, even a contagious one. He had the distinct impression that there had been more to Phlox's worry which the Denobulan had been reluctant to discuss openly around S'Trep.

"You're sure there was nothing else, Doctor?" The apprehension Archer felt was not relieved when Phlox shook his head in denial.

"Quite sure, Captain."

* * *

Reed knew from the moment he saw the dark rage in Entek's face that there would be no negotiation. This unevenly-weighted fight was not something he could talk his way out of.

Unfortunately, the alien had a double advantage. Not only was Reed exhausted and injured, but he was unarmed. Entek held both a disruptor pistol and the control to Reed's electric implant.

If he survived this, Reed thought in the split second of stillness that he had, he would curse himself properly for not taking the implant's control or at least destroying it with the disruptor pistol when he had the chance. He would berate himself for dropping the pistol. He would scold himself good and well for his blatant negligence.

If he lived long enough.

Reed lashed out with a foot and just managed to catch Entek's ankle. His toes crunched painfully against the alien's bony leg and did no damage, but it did at least set his opponent slightly off balance. Entek jumped back a pace with a snarl and fired the disruptor at Reed's head. It was a near miss – the heat scorched Reed's ear – but it was not as near as it could have been and Reed wondered if it had been calculated to miss. He rolled to the side and came upright in a crouch. Deadened muscles slowed the movement and Entek was upon him as he rose. The man pounced upon him and knocked him backward to the ground, pinning him down with the disruptor pistol against his chest. For a second Reed thought he had reached the end of his life, but then Entek leaned back slightly. The pressure on Reed's chest eased.

"Give me your hand. Your right hand," Entek snarled. Reed refused to move. He would not allow his last act to be one of obedience to the word of a slaver. Entek glanced around and raised the pistol to point over Reed's head at something further away. Reed could not see what he was aiming at, but he knew by the direction what it must be, and Fenzin's frightened yelp confirmed his fears.

"No!"

"Your hand!" Entek shouted. Reed lifted his right hand in front of him. Entek pressed the muzzle of the pistol against it.

"I think this is a fair price," the alien hissed. "What do you think? Perhaps I'll even let you live – if you don't try to move your hand away."

The hand in front of the pistol was shaking. It was not until Reed noticed this that he realised how frightened he was. Not for Fenzin, or Ayaila, or the Romulan – he was frightened for himself. He did not want any more pain. His mind told him that to give up his hand to allow the innocent Denobulans even a few seconds more to live was a worthy sacrifice, but in the moment it was one he did not want to make. He wanted to put his hand down, to let Entek shoot the Denobulans, to beg and plead for his life. His heart pounded with fear and the strong beat reminded Reed acutely that he was alive and probably would not be for much longer. The foremost impulse in his mind was to save himself. But even in that terrible second, he was appalled and shamed by his own cowardice. He could not, would not live with himself if he sacrificed someone else to save himself.

It took more out of him to act than he thought he had in him. Reed closed his fingers around the short barrel of the weapon and stared defiantly up into his captor's eyes. Entek's face was a mask of fury as he pulled the trigger.

* * *

To say that Admiral Gardner was angry when he heard Archer's report of the events on the Orion planet would have been the understatement of the century. He was positively livid.

Archer understood his point of view, truly. He'd chosen to send an away mission down to a planet inhabited by a species hostile to both the Federation and the Vulcan High Council, in search for an officer who, by all evidence available to the Admiral, had been dead for weeks. In the process, he'd burnt down a building filled with civilians and lost a crewman. Moreover, he had done all this without the necessary permission from his superior. It was that, more than his actions, that angered Gardner. Archer was well aware that he had flirted with the edge of insubordination multiple times in the past few weeks, and this was another such incident. He'd had no business making the call to send down an away mission on such an endeavor without Gardner's approval. But he had been in too much of a hurry – and anyway, it was easier to ask forgiveness than permission. Unfortunately, as he was learning now, that didn't mean that it was easy to ask for forgiveness.

And yet, although his haste had perhaps been ill advised, Archer knew that he had made the right call. All the proof he needed of that was on Covan's scanner and in S'Trep's story. Phlox had examined the scanner data closely and determined that, although he could not say with certainty that the human detected by the instrument was Malcolm, it was certainly an adult male human, not a sensor glitch, and it was not any member of the away team. This information had proved a buffer between himself and Gardner's wrath. The data had arrived safely to the Admiral. Why the Section hadn't intervened was beyond Archer. Perhaps, having got whatever use they could out of him by selling him to the Romulans, they no longer cared what became of him.

Archer had also brought S'Trep to speak with Gardner, and the Romulan explained his story to a panel of Starfleet brass, including the chief of staff, Admiral Roddenberry, and the commander in chief, Fleet Admiral Criech. The Vulcan ambassador to Earth, Sural, was also in attendance. Archer thought the Vulcan looked rather more alarmed at the sight and story of S'Trep than he had any right to. After the Romulan finished his story – which took some time, as Sural questioned him repeatedly – he left to allow Archer to speak with the panel in private.

 _"The Vulcan High Council will take custody of this prisoner,"_ Sural said as soon as Archer indicated that he was alone in the room. _"The Romulans are a dangerous species and an enemy of the High Council. A Vulcan ship will be dispatched immediately to rendezvous with you and take charge of the prisoner."_

By the disbelieving stares of the Starfleet admiralty, Archer understood that he was not the only one blindsided by the declaration. Gardner gave a short, mirthless laugh.

 _"Ambassador, you cannot be serious."_

The look he received from the ambassador could have frozen lava. _"Vulcans do not joke, Admiral."_

 _"This man is a Starfleet prisoner,"_ Gardner protested. Archer objected.

"S'Trep is not a prisoner, he is a guest. If his story is true – and for the moment, we have no reason to think he is lying – then Starfleet ought to consider him a hero."

Gardner waved away the distinction as if it was unimportant. _"But he is in the custody of Starfleet, not the Vulcan High Council."_

 _"I am authorized to speak for the High Council in matters concerning Earth relations,"_ the Ambassador said calmly. _"I have already notified the High Council. A warship will be dispatched within the hour. You will surrender this man, Captain Archer."_

The threat was scarcely veiled. Archer wondered how Sural could possibly have notified the High Council so quickly until he saw the PADD in the Vulcan's hands. In the Starfleet conference room, Gardner looked around at the rest of the panel in consternation. Beside him, Tarvin, another admiral, leaned forward to address the Vulcan ambassador directly.

 _"Ambassador, are you threatening an attack on a Starfleet vessel?"_ Her tone suggested that it would be a very bad idea for the Vulcan to make such an intimation, but Archer realised with a sinking sensation in his gut that there was absolutely nothing Starfleet could do if the High Council decided to attack the Enterprise. Vulcan technology was far more advanced than human technology, and although the gap had been narrowing gradually in recent years, Vulcan ships were still larger, faster, better armed, and better shielded than Earth vessels.

 _"Vulcans do not make threats,"_ Sural answered coolly. _"I have merely expressed the will of the Council, which is that the Romulan S'Trep will be held in custody by the captain of the Enterprise until the arrival of the Vulcan ships, at which point he will be surrendered without delay. Furthermore, Captain,"_ the Vulcan addressed Archer directly, _"you will remain in orbit of the Orion planet until the Vulcan fleet arrives. You will not send any further missions down to the planet's surface. You will, to the best of your capabilities, prevent the departure of any ships from the planet."_

 _"Ambassador!"_ Fleet Admiral Criech entered the fray. _"You have taken your demands far enough. I am sure it can be arranged for the Romulan to be placed as a guest in Vulcan custody. However, may I remind you that you do not command Starfleet captains. Please refrain from overstepping your authority."_

Archer thought he saw the Vulcan's eyes narrow slightly at the stinging rebuke, but perhaps it was only his imagination.

 _"Admiral Criech,"_ Sural said softly, _"I assure you that I do not lightly make demands. However, the Vulcan High Council must insist that the Enterprise rest temporarily under our command. I do not believe you appreciate the gravity of this situation. The Romulan Star Empire is one of the greatest known threats to the High Council, and we cannot afford to allow this situation to escalate further."_

 _"Escalate?"_ Gardner asked angrily. _"If you think threatening an Earth ship will avoid escalating the situation, I'm afraid you are very much mistaken."_

 _"As I said, Admiral, Vulcans do not –"_

 _"You would endanger the Vulcan-Earth alliance over a single man?"_ Roddenberry interrupted incredulously. _"Think of what you are saying, Ambassador. Our alliance with the Vulcans has a long and productive history of mutual benefit. Surely you would not consider endangering that relationship over this?"_

 _"The High Council does not wish to endanger anything,"_ the Vulcan answered gravely. _"You are correct that the Vulcan-human alliance has proved mutually beneficial, and we have every hope that it will continue to be so. Therefore, in light of the High Council's request, we sincerely hope that you will consider the relationship of trust that has developed over the years between our two peoples and grant us the benefit of the doubt. I am not at leave to share all pertinent military details, but I assure you that my government would not make this request if it were not of the utmost importance. Your people have trusted us many times before, Admirals, and we have never betrayed you. I beg you, please trust us in this."_

It was extremely artful, Archer had to admit. Sural allowed just the tiniest hint of urgency to creep into his tone, suggesting that the circumstances were so dire that even a Vulcan could scarce remain unmoved by them. The humans around him were visibly unsettled by his plea. At last, Admiral Criech nodded.

 _"Very well,"_ he said stiffly. " _As I see it, Ambassador, I have no other choice. I would not risk the peace either, and I recognize that you may well have good reason for your actions. However, I must be clear that I concede under protest. The trust you spoke of has characterized Vulcan-human relations almost since the beginning of our associations. After your words tonight, I am afraid that trust can no longer be mutual."_

Archer wondered if the Vulcan ambassador appreciated the implications of the Admiral's words. Sural bowed his head slightly.

 _"The High Council is grateful for your understanding and cooperation, Admiral. We place great value on your trust, and hope that in time you will come to respect our actions as absolutely necessary to the circumstances."_ He turned to Archer, who had watched the display pan out in silent amazement. _"Captain, you are temporarily relieved of command. Please transfer all your current command codes to Sub-Commander T'Pol immediately and request that she contact me at once on an encrypted channel."_

 _"Wait just a moment,"_ Gardner exploded furiously. _"Jonathan Archer is the commander of the Enterprise. I will not have him relieved of command!"_

The Vulcan was unruffled. _"Admiral, did you or did you not three weeks ago remark that Captain Archer appeared 'emotionally unstable, obsessive, and ready to pursue the most implausible of proofs'?"_

Archer gritted his teeth in silent anger. Gardner reddened steadily.

 _"That is not – I may have been – this is a misunderstanding, Admiral,"_ he appealed to Criech. The older man was unsympathetic.

 _"I am inclined to agree with Ambassador Sural,"_ Criech said. _"Whatever your feelings about Captain Archer's current ability to command, you have expressed doubts about his fitness for duty."_ Criech addressed Archer. _"Captain Archer, I sincerely regret the circumstances. Rest assured that you will return to full command of the Enterprise with no negative repercussions as soon as this situation has been handled. For the moment, however, I must ask you to temporarily pass the command of your ship to Sub-Commander T'Pol."_

Arguing Admiral Gardner's decisions in a private conversation with the man was one thing. Archer wasn't about to publicly dispute the authority of the top-level commander in Starfleet – especially not in front of a Vulcan. The last thing he needed was for word to get back to the High Council that Starfleet was incompetent even at instilling basic discipline in their starship commanders. As furious and incredulous as he was, he nodded respectfully.

"Yes sir."

* * *

The disruptor pistol gave a low whine of protest and died. Entek stared down at it wildly. Reed felt hysterical laughter gathering in his chest. For all he had been so concerned about the weapon's power cell dying while he still needed it, there had been no cause for worry. It had died at exactly the right time.

Reed exploded off the ground at Entek. They tumbled over each other and Reed came out on top, only feet away from the terrified Fenzin, still bending over the Romulan but watching with horrified fascination.

"Run!" Reed screamed. "Take Ayaila and –" The words choked off as Entek's hand found a grip on his throat. Black spots danced in front of Reed's vision. He pounded his fist down at the alien's head, but Entek straightened the arm holding Reed's throat to keep the human off him. Reed could not reach down far enough to get a solid hit. He grabbed Entek's wrist with both hands and dragged it off his neck. The alien's sharp fingernails left dirty scratches in his skin. Reed gasped raggedly for breath. Entek brought a knee up hard into his back, knocking Reed down on top of him. The alien bit deeply into the side of Reed's neck just below his jaw. Reed pummeled furiously at him, but only the back of Entek's skull was readily available and that didn't make a particularly good target.

Out of the corner of his eye, Reed could see Fenzin struggling to get the Romulan woman to her feet. "Come on," he coaxed. "That's it, come on."

Reed wanted to yell at Fenzin not to waste his time: the Romulan probably would not survive. He didn't have the breath to call out. He wrenched savagely upward, pushing off the ground with his hands, and managed to pull free of the alien's clenched teeth. A good deal of skin came away too. Reed whipped his clenched hands down toward Entek's face with the force of all his body weight. Entek threw his arms up to block and caught most of the blow on his wrists. He rolled sideways and got one leg between himself and his opponent and kicked off Reed's stomach, using the momentum to roll away from the fight. The air was driven out of Reed's lungs and he doubled over.

Fenzin and Ayaila had almost reached the corner of the building. The Denobulan man was supporting the Romulan. Entek scrambled to his feet and started after them with a snarl. Reed caught hold of his foot and jerked backwards. Entek stumbled onto all fours. Reed hung on grimly as the alien struggled to break away from his hold. He stubbornly refused to let go even when Entek smashed a fist into his face, making him see stars. The alien dropped down on top of him and began a rhythmic pummeling of Reed's head. Stunned and dizzy, it was all Reed could do to deflect enough of the blows to keep himself conscious. At least Entek had been momentarily distracted from his pursuit of the Denobulans.

As soon as he judged Reed subdued enough, Entek sprang off the human and raced to the corner of the building, glancing both ways to see where the fugitives had gone. With a muted howl of anger and frustration he turned back on the human. Reed rolled to his hands and knees, spitting out blood but scarcely able to contain his relief. He had no idea how the Denobulans had escaped in so little time, especially carrying the wounded Romulan, but it was enough that they were gone.

Unfortunately, Reed had no route of escape open to him.

The implant shot a spasm of electricity through Reed's body. He collapsed rigidly to the ground, and when the shock had passed he was barely conscious. The last thing he saw was Entek's foot as the alien kicked him hard in the head.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: If Star Trek was mine then there would be no happy endings.

* * *

Reed woke in darkness punctuated dimly by an unsteady white glow from beyond the immediate range of his vision. His body ached all over, and sharper pains stabbed at his neck and side. His head throbbed. He could not at once distinguish the pains of injury from the discomfort of lying on a hard surface.

At some length his consciousness returned enough for him to make a halfhearted effort to sit up. The burning in his side intensified with the movement and he froze, waiting for it to pass. It went slowly, leaving him sick and dizzy. He felt hot and clammy though he was shivering.

He looked toward the light, hoping it would provide some explanation to his befuddled mind. It came from a doorway, beyond which was another room lit with flickering fluorescent lights. He thought that shapes moved from time to time in front of the light, as if people passed before the door. He could not be sure. The dizziness did not pass, and after a few minutes Reed was forced to lower himself back onto the floor. He strained his memory for any idea of how he had arrived here and found nothing except a renewed throbbing in his head. He felt too ill to be disturbed by his inability to remember. He wanted to sleep, but even in his current state he knew better than to allow himself that luxury.

First things first. Pain was not necessarily a good indicator of the severity of an injury. With an effort Reed raised his hands to feel gently over his head, and in doing so he discovered a large, aching swelling. That at least explained why he couldn't seem to remember anything; he must be concussed. Badly concussed, if the size of the injury was anything to go by.

As he moved his hands, he came to realise that one of his wrists was chained. He tugged weakly at the restraint, more out of curiosity and confusion than a desire to escape an unknown captor. The chain's clank brought the dark shape of a man into the doorway. Reed squinted against the brightness in an effort to make out the man's features.

"Entek," a voice from beyond the doorway called, causing the man to turn. "Is he ready to fight?"

"He's alive," the man in the door answered, sounding disgusted. "So I suppose he is, knowing this one." He came into the room and nudged Reed with a foot, provoking a groan.

"If he's not ready by tonight, get rid of him. He's been taking up space for a day already."

"He'll be ready." The man bent down over Reed and took him by the unchained arm. Reed felt the sharp prick of a needle in his skin. He was being drugged. He gave a soft groan of relief as the pain eased. He did not try to move, conscious of the hard toes of his captor's boots near his face. When he had finished with the needle, the man left.

Reed sat up and found that the dizziness had dissipated to a great extent. He still felt warm and was shivering, but with the pain almost completely dulled it was not unbearable.

In the dim light, he took stock of his condition. Besides the main head injury, he appeared to have a large number of minor wounds, mostly bruises. He felt along his neck, which stung slightly, and encountered a series of scratches and a larger, jagged patch of missing skin under his jaw just below his ear. Without a mirror it was hard to judge the nature of the wound.

His side still twinged noticeably despite the painkiller, and when he examined it he found that this injury had been securely bandaged with some kind of semi-clean cloth. He wanted to examine the wound closely, but felt it was best not to remove the bandages lest the wound break open and begin to bleed. He slid his fingers under the edge of the dressing and noticed with a grimace that the skin around the wound was quite hot. If it was infected, that would certainly explain why he felt feverish. He hoped that the painkiller also contained some manner of antibiotic.

The man with the hard-toed boots, to whom Reed had attached the name _Entek_ based on the conversation of a few minutes prior, reentered the room carrying a cup and something on a plate. He set both before Reed, who only then noticed his own hunger and thirst.

"Eat this. You're going to need your strength. If you don't win for me tonight, I'll kill you myself. You've been enough trouble already."

Reed considered asking the man where he was and what had happened, but Entek clearly did not harbor friendly feelings towards him. He drank and ate gratefully, though the strange liquid and dried bread unsettled his stomach.

He did not spend much time thinking about Entek's words. He didn't seem to have much choice in what happened to him, and he could not bring his jumbled mind to care very much. Reed felt strangely indifferent to his surroundings, as if they weren't real at all.

Perhaps he would live tonight; perhaps he would not. Either way, he couldn't imagine there was anyone who would particularly care. He did not.

* * *

The chime of the ready room rang.

T'Pol assessed the door with a practiced eye. As many times as she had been in this room, she was still unaccustomed to the view from this particular angle. She had been acting Captain a number of times before, but that had always been in the absence or incapacitation of Archer. This time, it was quite different.

It was not that the switch was unpleasant, exactly. T'Pol had never harboured ambitions toward the captaincy of a Starfleet vessel, but under the circumstances she understood the necessity and was not perturbed about temporarily taking command. Still, being in the Captain's ready room as the commander of the Enterprise, while Archer was in no way incapable of fulfilling his role, was a distinctly odd situation.

"Come."

Unsurprisingly, it was Archer himself. T'Pol studied his face carefully. In her time aboard the Enterprise, she had come to know and understand Jonathan Archer better than she ever could have imagined she could know or understand a human. That did not mean she agreed with him at all times, or even most of the time, or that she was motivated by the same passionate emotions that powerfully influenced this human. However, she had come to realize that just because Archer's primary motivations might be emotional did not mean that his logic was flawed. That, more than anything else, had allowed her to develop respect for the competence of humankind. They might be emotional: they were not always wrong.

T'Pol saw discontent in Archer's expression, along with a mix of warring emotions. The time had long passed when Archer's face was a closed book to her. His feelings were perfectly obvious to one who knew how and where to look, and T'Pol had mastered that art. He was angry, she observed, and hurt. Anxious. Worried. Angry at her? Perhaps not. He was angry, but he knew it had not been her decision to take command and she would never have done so had she not been ordered to by the High Council itself. But he had been snubbed, and badly.

T'Pol did not like what she saw in his face.

"Captain." She rose respectfully to her feet. "What may I do for you, sir?"

It was not her customary manner of address toward Archer. She had always been respectful, and with rare exceptions spoke to him only by his proper title, but she had never permitted her behaviour to border on subservience. However, she judged that a different approach was required here. Archer had already been affronted by his superiors; it was important that he not believe himself likewise slighted by her. She did not want him to leave feeling that his authority was threatened from multiple fronts.

Archer gave a bitter smile. "Sit. I'm not the Captain, you are."

T'Pol did not sit. "A temporary relief from command due to particular circumstances does not constitute a demotion."

"Give it time. The demotion's next." Archer shook his head distractedly. "That's not why I'm here. What's going on, T'Pol? What's happening to my ship?"

T'Pol evaluated his meaning. The Enterprise had suffered no damage, so evidently Archer was not literally asking what had become of his ship. His first question was more enlightening.

"The High Council requires the temporary use of your vessel, Captain."

"So I see," Archer said in a manner that suggested she had told him absolutely nothing of value. "Why?" His eyes scanned her face. "Who is S'Trep? What do they want with him?"

There were times when T'Pol experienced two incompatible desires regarding her position between the High Council and Captain Archer. Now was one such time. She had great respect and trust for this human, and would have preferred to relate everything that Sural had said both explicitly and through implication. At the same time, she recognized the duty she owed to her own people. This was a place to tread carefully.

"Captain, you seem to be under the impression that I have been informed of all the motives behind the High Council's decision."

Archer stared hard at her. "And that's a mistaken impression?"

Since curiosity was not an emotion, T'Pol was quite comfortable admitting to herself that she, too, was intensely curious about S'Trep. She recognized the legitimate concern of the High Council regarding the Romulan Star Empire. However, the willingness of the Council to move so quickly from a diplomatic request to an open threat toward Earth had been completely unexpected to her. Either the High Council placed far less value on Vulcan-human relations than she had believed, or there was a far more compelling reason than she knew for the Council to gain custody of S'Trep. When questioned, Sural had refused to explain any farther than to say that tensions with the Romulan Star Empire were higher than tended to be publicized. If there was more to the story regarding S'Trep particularly, he had not told her.

"In part, Captain."

Archer disliked her obfuscation. T'Pol considered the most tactful way to approach the situation.

"The Vulcan High Council is a new entity, as you are aware."

Archer studied her curiously. He knew enough of her to realize that she was not in the habit of making inane comments that did not lead into her main point. "Yes."

"Administrator T'Pau has encountered opposition to her methods," T'Pol said carefully. "It is necessary for the Vulcan government, especially now, to maintain strong unification in the eyes of the governments with which it associates. This includes the governments of Earth."

"Is what you're saying…" Archer began, but T'Pol uncharacteristically spoke over him.

"The Vulcan government has never been in the habit of making public its concerns about enemies, Captain. The Orions are not the only species which poses a threat to the High Council. The Council does not feel the need to relay its apprehensions to humankind. Especially with the new government, there is a belief that potential…problems…should be kept 'within the family,' as you might say, Captain."

"The High Council's scared."

T'Pol disliked Archer's intimation that the Council was incapable of the proper degree of emotional regulation. "That is not what I said."

"The High Council doesn't want to look incompetent in front of Earth," Archer amended. "They're worried about the Romulans, more than they want to admit. Especially with the new government, they don't want to publicize an apparent weakness."

"That is not inaccurate, Captain."

"I see." Archer looked thoughtful. A little of the anger had gone out of his expression. He now appeared more interested than upset.

"And what about S'Trep? Where does he fit in?"

"I do not know," T'Pol admitted. "It is possible that the High Council simply desires to interrogate this man. I cannot say for sure whether there is any further reason for their insistence. My own belief that he may not be trustworthy is founded in what I know of the relations between my people and the Romulans through my own experiences. However, I do appreciate that he appears to have spoken truly insofar as Lieutenant Reed's whereabouts are concerned."

"As far as his whereabouts _were_ concerned, you mean." Frustration and resentment smouldered in Archer's eyes again. T'Pol had noticed this reaction before when Reed's name was mentioned. It seemed that Archer took his officer's presumable desertion personally.

"Lieutenant Reed is a resourceful man," T'Pol said. She wanted to relieve the unpleasant and destructive emotions that Archer felt in relation to his former tactical officer, but after hearing the report from Covan and Tucker, she knew the chances of Reed's survival were nearly zero.

"I'm well aware." Archer sighed, then turned his attention back to the matter at hand. "You say your own experiences, T'Pol. What do you know of the Romulans?"

A dangerous question. Archer seemed to pick up on T'Pol's reluctance to discuss the matter.

"Some time ago, you assisted me with a personal matter of some importance," she said cautiously, after a hesitation that lasted a bit too long. "A man named Menos."

"I remember."

T'Pol had no doubt that he remembered well. On that occasion, too, the Vulcan government had demanded the cooperation of the Enterprise. "Captain, I informed you then that I was in the employ of an organization within the Vulcan government. This organization was called the Ministry of Security. Administrator T'Pau has made an effort to restructure this subsection of the government, but it has proved extremely resilient. Its function has historically been largely separate from that of the official Vulcan government. It is a Ministry of protection, and as such it has had great leeway for many years. I will be the first to admit that it has done much for the security of the Vulcan people. However, it has never been held to the same standard of accountability as other branches of the government and the military."

"A rogue organization."

"In a manner of speaking."

There was a dark look in Archer's eyes. "And you worked for this Ministry. Is that how you know about the Romulans? You encountered them while you were in the Ministry?"

"Captain, I have already spoken more than is advisable." T'Pol tried to cushion to blow of the words by lowering her voice. Archer never liked having things kept from him, and he didn't like it now. He scowled at her.

"T'Pol, you're an officer on my ship. You have a duty to me."

Tactfully, T'Pol opted not to remind Archer that in fact, _he_ was currently an officer on _her_ ship. She straightened slightly. "I regret that I am unable to discuss the matter further." Truly, she did. But she was, after all, a Vulcan, not a human, regardless of her present ties to Starfleet. "I have the greatest regard for you, Captain. However, as you know, I must answer to the Vulcan government first."

"To the Ministry of Security, you mean." Archer paced around the room, running a hand agitatedly through his hair. He stopped in front of the desk. "I don't like it, T'Pol," he confessed with unexpected frankness. "First Malcolm, now you. How many people on this ship are secretly working for someone else? I don't know who to trust. After what Malcolm did…how can I trust you?"

"Captain, I am not Lieutenant Reed," T'Pol said gently. "I do not condone his actions, if indeed he left willingly. I am bound to silence on some matters, but that does not mean I am intentionally hiding loyalties to another commanding officer."

"That's what he told me," Archer muttered. "He promised me he would never speak with this Harris again."

T'Pol could understand Archer's concern. Her own situation was not entirely dissimilar to Reed's connection with the mysterious organization to which he apparently held stronger loyalties than to the Enterprise itself.

"I assure you that I do not intend to leave the Enterprise without your knowledge and permission."

Unexpectedly, Archer smiled at her. T'Pol stoically ignored the noticeable relief from tension that his smile afforded her.

"I appreciate that, T'Pol, I really do. Thank you for your honesty."

"Vulcans do not lie, Captain."

Archer laughed. It was not a happy laugh, but it was better than the sullen anger T'Pol had seen only moments before. "If there's one thing I've learned about Vulcans," he said, "it's that they don't need to lie to hide the truth."

* * *

Reed woke abruptly from vaguely disturbing dreams into a world of confusion. Someone was dragging him upright with a rough hand under his arm, and out of instinct Reed resisted. Entek kicked him in the ankle with the toe of a hard boot.

"Save it."

He stabbed a needle into Reed's arm with no care as to where it went in or at what angle. If the substance the needle carried was not pure adrenaline, it was something similar. Reed blinked against the sudden oppressive brightness of the ambient light from the next room. The shouting voices rose into a wall of chaotic sound. His heart throbbed urgently against his ribcage. He found himself gasping for breath as if he had been running. He wanted to move, to run – anything that was not standing still.

Entek unsnapped the chain from Reed's wrist, but the heavy metal cuff still clung around his arm. Reed swiped experimentally at Entek's face, testing the weight of the cuff. The alien dodged the blow and pushed him forward roughly with an angry laugh.

"Better keep that spirit if you wanna live."

Off balance, Reed stumbled through the doorway and into the bright room. He straightened to find that it was packed with people. Aliens of all kinds crowded around a raised platform in the centre, which was walled and roofed with uneven wire mesh. The aliens were a rough-looking crowd. Most of them were much larger than Reed, and many bore evidence of recent injury. Several of them shouted to Entek as he emerged from the dark room with Reed. Although he could understand their language, Reed was unable to process the meaning of the words. His heart was beating too hard. Everything was too loud and bright. He saw everything and understood nothing. In a far corner, a humanoid of indeterminate species and gender lay crumpled against the wall unmoving, as if it had been tossed aside when it became too weary or injured to provide any further amusement. There was blood on its head. Entek saw Reed looking at it.

"That'll be you if you don't fight."

Reed had no intention of not fighting if he was given half a chance to. The adrenaline surging through his body would permit of nothing different. He would fight anything and anyone.

Entek pushed him forward toward the caged platform. The crowd parted to let them through. A set of rickety wooden stairs mounted up to the platform, where Entek opened a small door and prodded Reed forward into the cage. He snapped a short chain onto the cuff on Reed's wrist and threaded it through the wire of the door before he closed and locked it. By keeping tension on the chain, he forced Reed to crouch by the door with one hand pressed tightly against the wire mesh.

On the other side of the platform, from the opposite end of the room, someone else was coming. The crowd of aliens drew apart again, cheering. Reed squinted to see what was coming. His eyes were reluctant to focus on anything farther away than the opposite wall of the cage. The colour more than the shape told him that it was an Andorian approaching the cage, pushed ahead of a laughing Orion man. The Andorian was likewise shoved onto the platform across from Reed. The Orion held him in place by keeping a hard grip on one blue wrist, but he didn't need to. The Andorian's antennae were pinned flat back against his skull with fear. He cowered against the wire door, shaking. Reed tugged at the chain holding him. He felt a peculiar desire for violence against the frightened Andorian. Surprised at this urge, he checked himself. Why should he fight this man? The Andorian clearly posed no threat.

The shouting of the crowd around the cage was gradually coalescing into a single chant. " _Fight_ ," they were shouting. " _Fight, fight, fight_ …"

Entek snapped the chain off Reed's wrist, startling him. Reed looked down in confusion. "Fight!" Entek shouted up at him. Fight what? Reed was confused. There was not a chance that the terrified Andorian would fight back. There was no threat here.

The crowd gave a collective yell and Reed whipped around just in time to get a blue-skinned fist in his eye. The strike knocked him back into the wire, which bent around him. Entek whipped the short length of chain against his back from behind, almost stunning him.

"Fight, you dog!" Entek screamed. "I'll kill you myself!"

Reed twisted sideways and more out of luck than skill got out of the way of the Andorian's next punch. He pushed himself into a forward roll out of the line of fire and had to spring forward as soon as he came up to avoid the alien's charge. His side ached from his uneven gasps for breath. His head swam. The pain only spurred him on.

Reed dropped low to the ground and surged forward as the Andorian came at him. He caught the alien's knee hard with his shoulder, taking out the leg. With a yelp, the Andorian stumbled face-first into the wire mesh. It flopped to the floor and rolled over with dark blue blood trickling down its face where sharp edges of the wire had cut into it. Still on hands and knees, Reed pounced. He got two solid hits into the Andorian's stomach before the man rolled up into a foetal ball.

Reed got shakily to his feet and stood over the Andorian, waiting for it to move, waiting for permission to attack again. All the fight had gone out of the alien.

"Kill him!" Entek shouted. He was standing on the edge of the platform, just outside the wire, shaking the door. "Finish him off!"

Reed looked down at the alien at his feet. The Andorian was crying and covering its head with both arms. It was clear that it fully expected to be killed. Reed prodded it roughly with one foot.

"Get up," he snarled. It was surprisingly difficult to force words out. The Andorian whimpered. Reed kicked the pathetic man in the ribs. "Get up!" He wanted to fight. He needed it. But he could not attack a man who lay passively by and refused to fight back. He moved away a few feet.

The Andorian looked up, its face streaked with sweat and tears. To Reed's surprise, it climbed slowly to its feet. The crowd was roaring. Perhaps desperation spurred on the blue-skinned alien, or perhaps it took Reed's gesture as weakness. It charged at him, covering its face with both forearms, not even looking where it was going. Reed stepped to the side and brought both fists down on the back of the Andorian's neck as it passed. The alien collapsed onto the wooden platform with a resounding thump. Reed straddled the fallen body and crouched to roll it over. The Andorian was unconscious, or dead.

The crowd was chanting again. _Kill. Kill. Kill._ The rhythm beat into Reed's skull. His surroundings seemed to fade into a distant blur. All that was real was himself, and the Andorian. Reed moved off it and knelt beside the alien's head. He pried back one eyelid and lightly touched the pale eye beneath. The reflex was there. That was something, at least; it was not dead.

Reed sat back on his heels, confused. He didn't know where he was. The man on the floor in front of him was a stranger. Reed struggled to understand what was happening. Had there been an accident? His inability to comprehend the situation frightened him. _Kill. Kill._ The pulse of the chant filled the air.

Something heavy and metal struck Reed's back viciously from behind, knocking the wind out of him. He looked up, dazed, to see an alien standing over him holding a short piece of chain. Entek whipped the chain down at him again, and again. Reed wrapped his arms protectively around his head and allowed the blows to fall on his ribs.

Someone had come for the Andorian, too. The blue-skinned alien's eyes blinked open as its Orion captor leaned down over it with a long knife. The wretched Andorian did not even have time to scream.

* * *

Archer paced around his quarters, feeling both tired and restless. He had been stripped of all power on his own ship, and with that went his ability to act. His hands were tied, as surely as if he had been actually bound.

His conversation with T'Pol on the previous day had proved enlightening but not ultimately useful. He knew nothing more about S'Trep now than he had before, and Phlox had insisted upon allowing the Romulan to rest. Archer had tried stopping by Phlox's quarters anyway only to find the doctor in, and not pleased at having his orders disobeyed. Now that he could not even pull rank as the captain, Archer had the feeling that nearly everyone on board outranked him.

"Everyone except you, hm?" he murmured, stooping to tickle Porthos's ears. The beagle sniffed his fingers sleepily.

Archer settled himself on his bed and tried to sleep until it became clear that was not going to happen. He changed back into uniform and, out of lack of anything better to do, wandered down to engineering.

"Somethin' I can do, Cap'n?"

Archer caught himself in time to avoid wincing at Tucker's easy use of the title. "No, not really. Actually I was wondering if there's something I can do. I'm not much use sitting around without a job."

"Nothin' much happenin' here. Jes' th' usual maintenance."

"Come on, Trip. I'm sure there's something. Polishing all the rails, maybe?"

Tucker smiled grudgingly. "I kin find somethin' if yew insist."

He led Archer to an access tube in the back of Engineering and crawled in behind him. The small space was lit with the eerie blue glow of an antimatter stream running through its back wall. Tucker handed him a hypospanner.

"Coupla days ago we did some welding down here. Hadn't got around t' cleaning it up." He indicated a patch on the wall where the outer layer of metal was rough and uneven. Small fragments of metal protruded here and there. Tucker turned on his own hypospanner and prepared to begin work on his side of the patch. "Shouldn't take long with both of us."

Archer didn't want to hasten the task. He was looking to kill time, not to be efficient. However, he didn't object to Tucker's company.

"How long you off duty for?" Tucker asked over the whine of the hypospanners.

"The Vulcans should be here in about four days," Archer told him. "I'll take over from T'Pol as soon as we've transferred S'Trep to them. Supposedly."

"Yew don't think T'Pol is gonna let go of command?"

"It's not her I'm worried about." Archer sighed and attacked a small metal fragment with unnecessary vigour. "I don't know what to think anymore. Gardner doesn't think I'm capable."

"Why not?"

"Think about it from his perspective," Archer growled bad-temperedly. "I insisted that the body we found was a clone, only to send him data that shows exactly the opposite. He thought I was 'emotionally unstable.' And I didn't even speak with him before I sent the away mission. He knows why I did it now, but he thinks I'm insubordinate."

"Well, yew kinda are. Takin' it from his perspective, I mean," Tucker added hastily.

"Don't you start, too."

"Yew know what I mean, Cap'n. Gardner wants someone he kin trust t' do what he says. But th' fact of th' matter is he doesn't always have all th' information."

"Damn Harris," Archer muttered. Tucker jabbed his hypospanner at the wall, then swore when it cut deeper into the metal than he'd intended. "Just for once I'd like to have a straight conversation with him. Face-to-face, so he can't run when it suits him."

Tucker said nothing. "Or Malcolm," Archer went on impulsively. "I could say the same for him."

Tucker winced. "Don't."

"If I get half a chance I'll be scanning that planet with a fine-toothed comb."

"He's dead, Cap'n." Tucker turned to face him. His expression was blank, revealing nothing. "Gettin' mad at him ain't gonna change anythin'."

"So he's all forgiven now? All he had to do is die?"

"Stop it, Cap'n. I didn't say that. But insultin' him only makes yew look petty. He can't defend himself."

"I thought that's why you're here. To do that for him."

Tucker stared at him, then gave a bitter laugh. "Yeah. I guess it is." He switched off his hypospanner and climbed out of the access tube. "Tell me when yer done in there."

Archer waited until Tucker's footsteps faded away, then slammed his fist against the wall. He instantly regretted it as his hand landed on a small spike that he hadn't smoothed out yet. "Dammit!"

No wonder he'd been relieved of command, Archer thought grimly. All he seemed able to do these days was tear apart the crew he'd spent so many years building.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Not mine.

* * *

Apart from the occasional beep from a control panel, the bridge was unusually quiet.

It was typical of Archer to engage in conversation with his bridge crew whenever he was present. Therefore, with him gone, there was nothing strange in the bridge remaining nearly silent. There was no reason for the quiet to be even the smallest bit unsettling. T'Pol decided that the additional duties of the last few days had taxed her more than normal. She would need extra meditation time to compensate. Any dissatisfaction she felt was entirely due to that.

T'Pol did not sit in the Captain's chair, but rather occupied her normal position at the science station. Only one crew member other than herself was trained to act as bridge science officer, and it was too much to ask any human to work a shift longer than eight or ten hours. Besides, T'Pol had on numerous occasions before fulfilled these two roles simultaneously. Vulcans were capable of maintaining a high level of concentration on more than one task, whereas humans tended to become distracted while trying to perform multiple operations.

Despite her experience in multitasking, T'Pol found that her usual level of focus was elusive. Counter to all her previous experiences, the silence itself seemed to be distracting. By the fidgeting of several members of the bridge crew, T'Pol was not the only one to notice this. In the past, she had always considered Archer's conversations with his crew merely a symptom of his human need for continued reassurance of good relations with those around him. Now, she was beginning to question that supposition. Had Archer's talkativeness actually served as a way to keep his crew focused? A curious phenomenon.

With her attention elsewhere, T'Pol did not instantly notice the flashing light of an alert on her console. She turned back to her station as soon as she saw it, surprised at her slow reaction time.

Something was launching from the surface of the planet below.

The implication of this alert struck the T'Pol immediately. If the Enterprise's scanners had detected an object's launch from the planetary crust, that meant sensors were scanning the planet – which, in turn, meant that the sensor shielding around the planet was no longer functional. She relayed this to the bridge crew.

"Sensor shielding around the Orion planet is down. Lieutenant Covan, put these coordinates onscreen." She sent the information directly to the tactical station. As Covan hastened to comply, T'Pol checked her scan records and found that the shielding had been deactivated nearly two seconds before she had noticed the alert. Her own lapse was mildly disturbing. She would require extended meditation tonight.

When the anticipated image appeared on the screen, Sato gasped. T'Pol, too, found the sight intriguing. Even without magnification, it was possible to see something moving on the planet's surface. Covan enlarged the viewscreen and with only a few degrees of magnification, T'Pol could see that the object lifting ponderously up into the atmosphere was a ship. It was by far the largest ship she had ever seen. In colour it was very near to the dusty reddish-brown hue of the planet's landmasses, which explained how it had passed unseen so easily. Roughly oval and relatively flat in comparison to its length and width, the ship was similar in size to a mid-sized city.

"Lieutenant." The Enterprise would be unable to inflict significant damage on this vessel. T'Pol suspected that not even a Vulcan warship could do much against such a foe. "Report."

Covan was gawking at the viewscreen, but he turned quickly to his station. "It appears to be heavily armed, but I can't be sure. Scans won't penetrate the hull. Whatever sensor shielding was around the planet may have been coming from this ship. It certainly has the power for a planet-wide shield."

T'Pol experienced a certain discomfort at the realisation that her assessment of the current technological capabilities of the Orion species had been a vast underestimation. Vulcan attacks might have done much to destroy Orion infrastructure, but a single ship like this was enough to match any technology she knew. Her report to Archer had been entirely, if unintentionally, false. The Enterprise was certainly not safe in Orion space. Either the High Council was unaware of the existence of this ship, or the intelligence that T'Pol had been given was incorrect. T'Pol was inclined to believe the former. Despite recent proof that the Council did not value human-Vulcan relations as much as she had believed, T'Pol highly doubted that the Councillors would intentionally send the Enterprise into the path of such a danger.

"Lieutenant, how many passengers do you believe that ship could carry?"

"I can't be sure, Sub-Commander. At least ten or twelve thousand."

"Twelve thousand," T'Pol repeated thoughtfully. "The average Orion tribal group is composed of three to four thousand Orions and twice as many slaves. I believe this may be the entire tribal group which occupied the planet."

"They're evacuating," Covan said. "I guess we've spooked them."

"It would appear so." T'Pol considered the massive ship. "We have orders not to allow any vessels to leave the planet."

"You want me to fire on them?" Covan asked incredulously. "They'll eat us alive, pardon the expression."

"Ensign, break orbit and move behind this planet's moon," T'Pol said to Mayweather. "Lieutenant, do not fire unless fired upon. Continue scans of the ship, particularly its warp signature. We may be able to track it later."

For all T'Pol's caution, the Orions took no notice of the Earth vessel. After hovering in geosynchronous orbit for several minutes and being joined by two smaller ships, the Orion vessel and the accompanying ships jumped to warp and shortly disappeared off scanners.

"Were you able to obtain a warp signature?" T'Pol inquired of Covan. The Andorian nodded.

"I'm afraid it won't be much use if we wait. We can't track warp trails reliably more than a few hours after they're made."

"I understand." Vulcan ships, T'Pol thought but did not say, were capable of following warp trails days after they were made. If the High Council wished to trace the whereabouts of this Orion ship, the Vulcan warships currently on their way to rendezvous with the Enterprise were quite competent to perform that function. There was no need for Jonathan Archer's ship to do the any more of the Council's work than was required. "Ensign Mayweather, please take us back into orbit. Lieutenant, initiate a scan of the planet's surface."

"What am I scanning for, exactly?" Covan looked puzzled.

"Human biosigns," T'Pol replied calmly. She could feel the tension radiating suddenly off of the bridge crew. Her words returned to them the wild hope that had been lost after Tucker's failed away mission. Giving them hopes that would likely prove false was not her intent. T'Pol did not expect to find anything. However, Archer would certainly have performed such a scan and it was only her due diligence to do so in his stead.

"Sub-Commander –" Covan started hesitantly, then seemed to think better. The silence on the bridge was quite different now. T'Pol initiated a scan of her own, knowing it was possible for one set of sensors to be in error. Tactical scanners tended to be better calibrated for weapons detection than for finding biosigns at long range. Regardless of the outcome of Covan's scan, T'Pol wanted a second opinion just to be on the safe side.

"Sub-Commander, I'm detecting – there's one human biosign," Covan stammered. "How –"

"Indeed." The science station reported the same result. T'Pol heard sounds of shock from the bridge crew. Ensign Sato looked near to passing out of consciousness.

"Sub-Commander, we have to go down there," the communications officer begged. "Please. I'll contact Sural, I'm sure you can convince him…"

"Negative," T'Pol said firmly. She considered the woman's pale face. "Ensign Sato, I believe you have recently discovered some issues with the communications array."

"What? No, I'll call Sural right away –"

"Ensign," T'Pol interrupted in a louder voice, "I don't believe you understood the question. Have you perhaps been experiencing communications difficulties that would _prevent_ you from contacting Sural?"

"I – oh!" Sato's eyes widened. "I mean yes, I believe there have been problems. Complete communications blackout, in fact."

"That is regrettable," T'Pol said gravely. "In the present situation it would be best to contact the High Council. However, it appears that we do not have that option. Ensign, please request that Commander Tucker and Captain Archer join me in the ready room immediately."

"Would that be with the same communications system that isn't working?" Covan asked suspiciously.

"I believe you understand the situation, Lieutenant."

* * *

"What's this about, T'Pol? I'm not on duty."

Tucker resisted the urge to tell Archer to shut up. The captain _wasn't_ officially on duty, so T'Pol's summons should have been an obvious signal that something important was in the works. Tucker supposed that Archer was still sore over his temporary removal from duty.

"Captain Archer, I would like you to lead an away mission," T'Pol said without preamble, silencing Archer's griping in an instant.

"What? I thought yew were told not t' let anyone leave th' ship."

"A few minutes ago the Orions evacuated the planet on a single large ship. Its weapons systems were too formidable for the Enterprise to attack. I believe this ship was the source of the sensor shielding around the planet. We are now able to perform scans on the surface."

"So?" Tucker asked suspiciously.

"Commander," T'Pol said gently, "we have detected one human biosign."

Tucker put out a hand to steady himself on the desk. T'Pol continued delicately. "Unfortunately, Ensign Sato informs me that the communications array is malfunctioning and we are unable to contact Sural. Given the circumstances I see no other choice but to proceed with an away mission without his consent."

Tucker highly doubted that the Vulcans would approve, even if T'Pol could ask their permission. The acting captain seemed to have thought of this.

"It may be best for this mission to remain confidential," she added.

That way, Tucker thought grimly, no blame could fall on the crew of the Enterprise barring himself, Archer, T'Pol, and perhaps, to a lesser extent, a few other senior staff members. The current legal orders from Starfleet required that the entire crew of the Enterprise cooperate with Vulcan instructions, and the last known orders of the High Council were that no away missions were to be conducted. When Starfleet Command invariably investigated the disobedience, anyone who had known of the insubordination or participated in any way could be court-martialled. Tucker would have liked to bring a security team or possibly a few MACOs, but he fully agreed with T'Pol's decision to involve as few people as possible. She was trying to protect the crew. She was giving Tucker and Archer the option to accept the blame that might fall on them, or to refuse it. For both of them, Tucker knew, there was no choice to be made.

"T'Pol, are you sure about this?" Archer asked quietly. The bulk of the consequences, from the Vulcan side at least, would certainly land on her. The Vulcan met Archer's eyes steadily.

"I would have it no other way, Captain."

It was at times like this, Tucker thought as he and Archer sprinted for the shuttlebay, that he quite liked having T'Pol aboard, whatever his past feelings about the matter.

* * *

It was an Orion this time.

Reed crouched inside the wire door, waiting for Entek to give him the customary pre-fight shot of drugs. Betting had begun to slow, which signalled to Reed that the start of the match was imminent. The Orion stood inside the door opposite him. It was unchained. Apparently it accustomed enough to the rules of the ring that it no longer needed to be restrained. Entek gave no such freedoms to Reed.

In the past three days he had fought as many times. After the Andorian, he had faced an alien of unknown species and then a Tellarite. Without the painkiller and the stimulant that Entek gave him before every fight he would surely have died in the cage. As it was, he had yet to lose. That did not mean that the fights had gone well. After the painkiller wore off an hour or two after each fight, Reed was incapacitated with pain and a fever that was by now raging. He could not eat the stale bread that Entek brought him until it had been soaked in liquid, and the last time he'd been fed he had been unable to stomach even that.

He won, though, and that was the important part. Winning meant living. Except in his last fight, where the Tellarite had fought long and well and had been spared, the losers of both his fights and the other fights he had seen were slaughtered by their owners, on the rare occasions when their opponents refused to finish the kill. It seemed a waste, but that was not his concern so long as he did not lose.

The needle pricked Reed's wrist and he allowed himself a sigh of relief as artificial energy flooded into his veins. His arm was sore from being shot up but the painkiller mostly took care of that. Several of the needle marks had reddened and grown hot, like the wound in his side, which throbbed with a steady sickly burn with or without drugs. Reed knew that it was badly infected. Entek had replaced the dressing for the first time the previous night, expressing disgust when the injury was exposed. Pus was leaking out of the edges of the torn flesh and the skin around it flared angry red. Still, the importance of the infection faded whenever he was in the fight cage. Everything faded there, except for his opponent.

The Orion was much bigger than him, but that was not necessarily a problem. It was speed that mattered more than sheer strength.

Entek pulled the chain off Reed's wrist and he stood slowly, keeping his eyes on the Orion. His legs shook, which was distracting, but that was probably only a symptom of hunger. It was nothing to be concerned over.

He circled to the right. The Orion watched him come. It did not look worried, nor did it seem to have any intention of making the first move. Reed didn't like that. It was always better to start off on the defensive rather than the offensive; however, it was better to be fighting than waiting, regardless of who started attacked first.

He closed in.

* * *

Tucker bent over the navigation panel, watching the kilometres between the shuttle and the lone human biosign drop away. Archer was tense and quiet beside him, focused on flying the shuttle. Tucker wondered what he must be thinking.

"Yew were right, Cap'n."

"What?"

"About searchin' with a fine-toothed comb. I gave up too easily."

Archer shook his head slightly in denial, but he didn't argue. Disliking the silence and the resentment he still sensed in his superior officer, Tucker humbled himself further.

"I'm sorry, Cap'n. I shoulda listened to yew."

"I was just angry," Archer told him. It was the closest to an apology that Tucker was likely to get these days. "I didn't really think we'd find…" He gave an explosive sigh. "Dammit. Damn Vulcans. We could have gone down again three days ago."

Tucker doubted that Archer would have sent down another away mission even had the choice been given him, but if it was easier for the captain to blame someone else for the delay in a second rescue attempt, he wasn't going to argue.

"Entering atmosphere." Archer braced himself against the mild turbulence as they plunged down toward the planet. "Tell the Enterprise we're approaching coordinates. Five minutes to set down."

"Communications array ain't workin'," Tucker reminded, puzzled by Archer's forgetfulness. Archer gave a short laugh.

"They'll read us loud and clear, Trip. Guarantee you there's nothing wrong with communications."

"But T'Pol…"

"Is a sly bastard when she needs to be." There was anger in Archer's voice that Tucker didn't understand, and his choice of words seemed unnecessarily vicious. Tucker didn't inquire. In his present mood Archer would probably take any questioning as a personal attack.

"She's bullshittin' us?"

"Not us. The Vulcans."

The communications panel bleeped at Tucker, indicating that the Enterprise reported his message received. The engineer shook his head in amazement. "What a woman."

"She has her moments," Archer agreed. "Approaching coordinates."

It was an urban area, not quite as citified as the location where Tucker had been previously. The surrounding buildings were old and run-down, some beginning to crumble. Archer set the pod down in a cracked parking lot. Much of the pavement had disintegrated as weeds grew up through weaknesses in the concrete, ultimately destroying the integrity of the material. Tucker retrieved a hand scanner from the back of the shuttlepod and followed Archer out onto the uneven pavement. The scanner picked up a signal immediately.

"Ninety metres," Tucker said. "And down four metres. Must be a basement." He didn't like the sound of that. Basements meant stairs, which complicated mobility. The fewer obstacles the better, no matter how small those obstacles might be.

"Lead on." Archer dropped a hand to the phase pistol holstered at his side. "I've got your back."

* * *

The Orion reacted faster than anticipated. As Reed sent an experimental punch toward its gut, the large alien grabbed his wrist in mid-strike and twisted his arm. Pulled off balance, Reed allowed himself to fall. The Orion's continued grip landed him on his back. Reed sent a foot straight up at its groin, but the Orion jerked hard on his arm and the kick missed. He did, however, manage to get his heel planted against the alien's farther hip bone, where he locked his knee to prevent himself from being pulled in to close quarters. He brought up the other foot to kick at the Orion's ribs on the side nearest him. The green-skinned alien gave a low grunt of pain. It jerked on his arm with tremendous strength.

Wedged as he was with his body stiff for leverage and his leg locked out and braced against the Orion's hip, Reed had no leeway to move with the pull. He felt a sickening shock as his shoulder tore out of its socket. His body still flushed with painkiller and stimulant, Reed barely noticed the pain. He was immediately aware, however, that he had been dealt a severe handicap. It was time to disengage and regroup. He gave the Orion's ribs a final vicious kick, then seized its wrist with his free hand and curled his body up off the ground so that he hung from the alien's arm. The Orion staggered forward, unbalanced by the unexpected weight. Reed took advantage of its distraction and planted his foot firmly in its groin. The alien gave a howl of pain and dropped him. Reed slipped between its legs as it doubled over, but he was not afforded the time he'd expected to make good his escape. The Orion stomped down on the dragging hand of Reed's injured arm, bringing his momentum to an abrupt halt. The loose tendons of the dislocated shoulder twinged in protest. Reed paid no attention to the discomfort.

The Orion whipped around, swivelling most of its weight on Reed's hand to keep him pinned in place. His mistake, Reed realised, had been in underestimating the large alien's speed. His tactic had not been altogether wrong: the Orion was slower than him, but it was not as slow as he had initially judged. Time was his ally. Time, and distance. He needed to dart in and out, inflicting one injury at a time until his opponent was weak enough for him to close. As long as he was pinned in place, he was at the mercy of the slower but stronger alien.

Reed gave a howl of pain as the Orion smashed his hand into the wooden floor and collapsed in agony. In truth he felt the destruction of his hand only distantly, but there was no reason for his opponent to know that he was still able to fight. Reed anticipated the movement as the Orion, thinking him momentarily incapacitated, raised its foot to stamp down on his head. From far off, he heard Entek screaming in fury. As the pressure on his hand lifted, Reed surged forward and rolled. He got between the alien's legs again and landed a heel in its groin on his way through. Doubly injured, the Orion bellowed in agony and got its back up against the wire, shielding its tender crotch with both hands. Although no painkiller could entirely alleviate the alien's discomfort, Reed suspected that his opponent was using the same tactic he had employed only seconds earlier – exaggerating an injury to provoke premature attack. He'd gotten a solid kick, but under the assumption that the Orion had also been drugged, it hadn't been a hard enough strike to induce the level of incapacitation that the Orion currently exhibited. Well – there was nothing to prevent him using that strategy again. Perhaps the Orion was fool enough to be taken in a second time.

Reed staggered backward, clutching at his dislocated arm and whimpering in pain that was not entirely feigned. He could feel it more distinctly now that he was not, at the present moment, fighting for his life; but the drugs he'd received made the growing discomfort easy to ignore. Through slitted eyes he watched the Orion. Unfortunately, the alien was not to be fooled again. Reed gave up the tactic after a few seconds and stood still in the centre of the cage, waiting for his opponent to make the first move.

"Kill him!" Entek was screaming. In the conflict Reed had circled so that he was now facing Entek. The man was standing on the edge of the platform outside the wire mesh, holding onto it with his fingers. His face was contorted with anger and eagerness that in combination bordered upon insanity. Without intending to Reed looked straight into the maddened face. A scream of agony echoed in his mind, so vividly he could not tell if it was real. He saw another face where Entek's had been only a fraction of a second before: a Romulan face, twisted in madness and terror. The wire that Entek gripped was leather restraints. Reed was tied too, unable to move, staring across empty space at a tormented Romulan man who screamed incoherently. The image was utterly familiar and yet wholly unknown. Reed was trapped by it.

The Orion's huge fist landing in his face broke the trance, and his nose.

* * *

"In here."

Tucker spoke in an undertone. He silenced the scanner so that it would not give audible alerts. Carefully, he put a hand against the metal door and pushed. It was not locked, and the handle was broken. The door itself was heavy but it swung freely. Tucker slid to the side and Archer stepped in past him, weapon raised. He swept the room quickly, checked behind the door, and then gave the all clear with a short nod to Tucker.

In the corner nearest where they had entered, a broken and sagging railing surrounded the hole of a staircase leading down. Tucker motioned towards it. From below, he could hear a commotion. There were voices shouting – dozens of them, raised in excitement or passion of some sort. Archer led the way down the ancient staircase as silently as possibly, pistol-first. Several of the stairs creaked, but there was little chance of them being overheard. The volume of the shouting intensified with every step they took nearer to the source of the noise.

The staircase ended in a short, dark hallway. At the end of the hall Tucker saw the brightness of a lit room. It was from this room that the shouting emanated. The scanner indicated less than twenty metres. Tucker nudged Archer and showed him the scanner. Reed – if indeed it was Reed – was in that room.

As they reached the doorway, Tucker flattened himself against the wall and drew his own phase pistol, securing the scanner in his belt. Archer took the wall opposite. From his position near the doorway, Tucker had a view of the larger side of the room. A crowd of aliens, composed mostly of species unknown to him, gathered around a raised wooden platform surrounded with wire mesh. They were yelling and cheering, clearly wildly excited about something happening inside the caged platform. Many were waving fists in the air as they shouted at whatever was in the cage. One of the aliens had jumped up on the edge of the platform and gripped the cage from the outside, screaming into it in some language Tucker did not understand.

Tucker squinted at the cage, trying to determine what was happening. At first, all he saw was a giant, green-skinned Orion man bending over something on the floor. The Orion struck down at whatever was beneath it. It was laughing. Its fist, Tucker saw as the alien raised it for another strike, was red with blood.

At that moment, someone in the crowd shifted enough to allow Tucker a clear view at the platform. Another figure was crumpled under the Orion, almost motionless. It, too, was humanoid.

Not humanoid, Tucker realised with a shot of adrenaline like nothing he'd ever felt. Not just humanoid: human.

"No!" Tucker screamed. He sprinted toward the platform, firing at the Orion as he went. Behind him he heard Archer's shout of alarm, then weapons fire. A streak of red flashed past his elbow into the nearest alien, who was in the act of drawing a disruptor. The crowd parted. Aliens dove left and right, away from the shots. The Orion staggered backward and fell as Tucker reached the platform. He sprang up the rickety wooden stairs and tore at the door in the mesh until it came open. He did not even notice the pain as sharp ends of wire sliced into his fingers.

The figure on the platform was very still. Blood pooled around its head. Trip dropped onto his knees, heedless of the weapons fire all around, and rolled the limp body over.

"Malcolm!"

Reed looked a mess. He was emaciated, both his face and body pinched with malnourishment. Blood ran freely from his nose and mouth. His clothes were torn and the skin that showed through holes in the cloth was dark with bruising. A strip of dirty cloth was bound around his stomach like a bandage, but had slipped to reveal the edge of a putrefying wound. For a moment, Tucker despaired. He snatched up the scanner and ran it over Reed's body, ignoring the injury readout and heeding only the life sign. Reed was alive.

Tucker lifted him with alarming ease and kicked the wire door open again. He slid carefully off the platform as Archer ran up, weapon still raised in case any of the scattered aliens should attempt further resistance.

"Shit." Archer jammed his phase pistol into the holster and reached out to help. "Here, give me his arm."

Tucker lowered Reed's legs to the ground and transferred one arm to Archer. "Careful, don't touch his –"

Reed moved.

In one remarkably swift movement he twisted free of Tucker's grasp and ducked to the side, driving a fist hard into Tucker's stomach. The engineer doubled over, the wind knocked out of him, as Reed kicked out at his knee. Tucker let the kick take him down and rolled to the side. Archer jumped away just in time to avoid Reed's next strike.

"Malcolm!"

Reed could barely stand upright. There was no recognition in his bloodshot eyes.

"Malcolm," Tucker grunted, struggling to his feet. "It's us."

Reed's defensive posture did not relax. He stood swaying, waiting for someone to approach him. Waiting to attack. One of his arms hung limply at his side, clearly dislocated at the shoulder. Blood streamed from his nose and dripped off his chin and down his neck. The bandage around his side had slipped further. Beneath it, the ugly wound oozed yellow. It had swollen until the skin around it was stretched tight and tore anew at each movement. Streaks of red spread out from the edge of the mutilated flesh. The grey eyes, rimmed with bruises, were entirely blank. It wasn't that he simply didn't recognise them, Tucker realized. He could not discriminate between them and any other attacker thrown into the cage to destroy him. Like a trapped animal, he would fight anything that came near enough to touch him.

Archer flipped his phase pistol's setting to stun. "Sorry, Malcolm," he muttered, and fired into Reed's stomach. Tucker jumped forward to catch the injured man as he fell.

Archer and Tucker took an arm each and lifted Reed between them. Tucker cringed at the limpness of the dislocated shoulder and the thought of the additional damage he was causing. At the moment, however, speed was more important than comfort. The aliens were beginning to recover their indignation at the attack and Tucker could see them gathering in force behind the platform. He and Archer backed up the stairs, unwilling to turn their backs on an angry mob. Once outside, they sprinted for the shuttlepod.

"Stay with him," Archer commanded as they lifted Reed onto the floor of the shuttlepod and climbed in. "I have the craft."

Weapon fire struck the shuttle as Archer lifted off. They'd been just in time. Tucker heard Archer hailing the Enterprise, then T'Pol's voice.

"We've got him, but he's in bad shape," Archer said grimly. "Patch us through to Phlox. Trip, tell the doctor what we're looking at."

The scanner's alert lights flashed in a kaleidoscope of alarm. Tucker tried not to listen to his own words as he reported Reed's injuries. This felt too horribly familiar: a race back to the Enterprise, one crew member injured and probably dying on the floor of the shuttle.

This time was different, Tucker promised himself. Reed was not Alex. He would live.

He had to.

* * *

A/N: The bad news: I will be extremely busy over the next three weeks, so I can't promise to update in that time. The good news: I go on leave after that and should have time to get some serious work done! I'm hoping to finish by the end of the year, but don't hold your breath.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: Still not mine, no matter how attached I've become to this story.

* * *

Archer watched his Chief Engineer pace.

Sickbay was quiet now except for Tucker's footsteps and the sounds of Phlox moving behind the curtain shielding one corner of the room. Even the Denobulan's many pets seemed to sense something amiss and were unusually silent.

Archer watched Tucker's face for any sign of the internal conflict he felt, but his engineer's anxiety seemed to be purely for the injured Lieutenant. Archer wished for a simpler time when his own thoughts could have been so straightforward. There were other factors in the balance now: there was T'Pol, who would probably be severely reprimanded and her service record permanently stained for her actions; there was his own career and Tucker's, both potentially destroyed through their collaboration with T'Pol; there was Reed's betrayal, of which Starfleet was ignorant; there was Harris, lurking intangibly just out of Archer's reach, waiting for the right moment to exploit his advantage. And to what end? Archer had the uneasy impression that he would get nothing from Reed on that score, even provided his Armoury Officer ever recovered. If Reed's loyalties were deep enough for him to desert, they were surely deep enough for him to conceal the reason why.

If Tucker experienced any such dissonance between concern and resentment, he didn't show it. Was he so naive as to think there was a good explanation for Reed's actions? Was he simply willing to extend the benefit of the doubt, regardless of circumstances? Did his friendship with Reed go so deep that he could accept such a betrayal without question? Or was it only that his concern for Reed's life was for the moment more pressing than his need to understand?

Anger swirled up again, as it seemed so apt to do these days. Archer swallowed it back with difficulty. He reproached himself for the extraneous emotion. Whatever the reason for his ability to set aside Reed's betrayal, Tucker was right. There would be a time for anger, but it was not now; not with Reed lying half-dead and mindless behind that white curtain.

* * *

"How's he doin', doc?"

Tucker hovered anxiously by as Phlox emerged from behind the partitioning curtain and went to wash his hands at the sink.

"He's alive," Phlox said, though he didn't sound particularly cheerful about it. He dried his hands and began to bring up information on a monitor.

"I set his shoulder and the break in his nose, which was quite severe," the doctor explained as he worked. "Most of his other injuries, while extensive, require time to heal rather than specific treatments. You may be pleased to hear that his injuries are less indicative of physical torture than of repeated fights."

That brought Tucker a small amount of satisfaction. Even if Reed was out of his mind, he'd kept fighting.

"There is one injury which gives cause for concern." Phlox displayed an image on the screen and Tucker had to supress a wince. Bared to full view, the infected wound in Reed's side looked terrible. It was swollen and red, especially around the edges, and yellow fluid oozed out in unnatural clumps. "This injury is about a week old," Phlox explained. "Initially it was a burn, perhaps from an energy weapon. It has been repeatedly opened anew, which allowed the infection to develop and grow deeper. I have started a strong course of antibiotics to counteract the infection, and I will monitor Lieutenant Reed carefully for signs of sepsis."

"He's gonna live, isn't he?" Tucker broke in impatiently. After all the hope lost and regained, he couldn't bear the suspense any longer. Phlox managed a small smile.

"I see no reason why he shouldn't survive, Commander."

Tucker let out a sigh of relief he hadn't realised he was holding. "That's good to hear, Doc," he said warmly.

"What about the neural damage?" Archer asked. "How bad is it?"

"I have not been able to ascertain that yet," Phlox admitted. "I have been more concerned about his physical injuries for the moment, and I am no expert on the kind of trauma S'Trep spoke of. I intend to consult with him as soon as possible, if you have no objections."

Tucker did not miss Archer's slight hesitation before his answer. "No, I don't object."

"There is another thing," the Denobulan said slowly. "Captain, I must request your permission to have Lieutenant Reed manually restrained, for both my safety and his own."

"Do you really think that's necessary?" Archer asked sceptically. "Can't you sedate him if there's a problem?"

"No, Captain." Phlox pressed a few keys on the computer, bringing up another image, this time a magnified animation of a molecule. "I found this substance and another in high quantities in Lieutenant Reed's bloodstream. One is comparable to a powerful opioid, while the other appears to be a stimulant. Based on where you found him, I suspect these chemicals were administered to keep him fighting in spite of severe injury and exhaustion. However, they are both highly addictive and his body has already formed a dependence. In light of this, it would be unwise for me to expose him to any similar substances, such as sedatives or painkillers."

Archer blinked. "He's addicted to drugs," he said bluntly, more a question than a statement.

"In a manner of speaking, Captain. Without exposure to further addictive substances, the dependence should resolve itself in time."

Archer sighed tiredly. "Thank you, Doctor. Call me if he wakes."

Tucker watched Archer leave, unwilling to abandon Reed's side.

"Is he gonna be okay, Doc?"

It was a very different question from his previous one. This time, Phlox did not smile.

"I certainly hope so, Mr. Tucker."

* * *

The buzz of the door chime roused Archer from his exhausted stupor. He hadn't even bothered to change out of the dirtied and blood-stained uniform yet. He couldn't be sure how long he had been sitting at his desk, staring blankly at the dark computer screen before him.

"Come." His voice was hoarse. His mouth felt dry and cottony, as if he had slept.

T'Pol stepped in, looking neither tired nor harassed to the casual glance. Archer's more practiced gaze told him that she, too, could use sleep or meditation.

"What is it?"

Archer couldn't bring himself to put any energy into the words, and they came out flatly. He was drained – tired and overwhelmed, both glad and sorry that the troubles of his ship were, for the moment, off his shoulders. T'Pol scrutinized him carefully. He saw her eyes rest on one of the larger bloodstains on his arm.

"Are you quite well, Captain?"

"I'm not the captain," Archer pointed out wearily. "And I'm fine. It isn't mine," he added, glancing down at the blood.

"Have you been through decontamination?"

 _Dammit_. There hadn't been time in the moment, and afterward he hadn't thought of it. A stupid oversight: if indeed Reed was at risk for sepsis, his blood could contain dangerous toxins, not to mention the drugs that Phlox had found.

"I'll see to it, T'Pol."

Another half hour before he could sleep, at least. He'd have to shower, dispose of the bloodied clothing, and get some kind of disinfectant to clean the things he'd touched in his quarters. Have Phlox inoculate him, possibly. Get Tucker to do the same, if he hadn't. He frowned at his own carelessness. It wasn't like him to miss such a basic detail as decontamination.

"You may be pleased to hear that the communications array is fully functional again," T'Pol said.

"That's good to hear." His sarcasm sounded bitter. He wasn't pleased to hear it, actually. That meant conversations with admirals, and reprimands, and very possibly a court-martial. At the moment, all he wanted was to sleep.

"Indeed. I have spoken with Ambassador Sural."

"I expect he's thrilled to hear we have Malcolm."

"The High Council is displeased with my decision," T'Pol admitted. "They believe that I have allowed emotional attachments to compromise my priorities."

Archer appreciated her openness. "What did you tell them?"

"The preservation of life, when possible, is only logical."

"That's true," Archer said softly. "Although preserving his life may be all we did. Phlox can't say if he'll ever recover."

"Lieutenant Reed is remarkably resilient."

"Resilient?" Archer smiled humourlessly. "I suppose so."

"The Council considers my actions to be directly contrary to my orders. I believe, were it possible, I would be relieved of command."

That was actually funny, in its way. "But they don't have a choice. There's no one else on board who answers directly to them."

"That is correct." T'Pol seemed to appreciate the irony of the situation as well.

"Are they going to remove you from the Enterprise?"

"Unlikely, Captain. I suspect that the High Council still sees the advantage in having a Vulcan on Earth's primary vessel of exploration. My situation is unique; were I removed, it would be difficult for the Council to justify to Starfleet why I should be replaced with a different agent."

"That's something, at least."

"Admiral Criech requests that I relay his desire to speak with you as soon as possible," T'Pol said. "Admiral Gardner also expresses his eagerness to contact you."

"I'm sure he did," Archer muttered. "It's my turn to get chewed out."

"I believe you have something to attend to first," T'Pol reminded. "Your decontamination, Captain," she added at his blank stare. Archer smiled weakly. The time decontamination bought would allow him to start formulating his responses to the inevitable barrage of questions he would face. He had a few more blessed minutes of peace before the storm descended upon him.

"Thank you, T'Pol. I don't know what I would do without you."

"It is likely," T'Pol said gravely, "that the Enterprise would be contaminated with a deadly pathogen."

* * *

 _"You were under orders not to leave the Enterprise!"_

"Respectfully, Admiral, I was relieved of command," Archer pointed out to the furious Admiral Gardner. "I was formally off duty. I did not act against a direct order."

That, at least, was true, although it was a severe bastardization of the intent of Starfleet policy. Command of the Enterprise was currently in the hands of the High Council, meaning that the crew was under orders from Starfleet to obey the Council, through T'Pol as the acting captain. It was a bureaucratic nightmare, which gave Archer plenty of room to bend regulations in his own defence. At the moment, he technically wasn't a member of the Enterprise's crew. His only position aboard the ship was as its Captain, a job of which he had been temporarily relieved. It sounded a thin excuse even to him. Blame had to rest somewhere, and dodging too deftly the blow against himself would allow the brunt of it to land on T'Pol. A delicate balancing act was in order. However, by the growing ire on Admiral Criech's face, Archer had the uneasy feeling that his best efforts would barely soften the consequences, even if he was willing to offer up the Vulcan as a sacrifice. Criech wasn't in the mood for excuses.

 _"Captain Archer,"_ Criech said quietly, instantly silencing Gardner's continued bluster, _"do you believe that the responsibility of following orders disappears when you are off duty?"_

And there it was. Archer resigned himself to the admittedly deserved dressing-down. "No, sir."

 _"And yet you considered it acceptable to act against the direct orders of the High Council."_

"I was trying to save my officer's life. As I understand it, Sub-Commander T'Pol attempted to contact the Council for permission, but the communications array malfunctioned. She believed that urgency was necessary, given the situation."

 _"Very convenient timing for the communications array to break down, isn't it?"_ Gardner asked sharply. Criech ignored him.

 _"Did Sub-Commander T'Pol order you to undertake the away mission?"_

"Absolutely not, sir. It was entirely my decision."

Criech sighed. _"I expect your Chief Engineer had nothing to do with the decision either."_

"That's correct."

 _"Your communications array seems to have been fixed quickly. Was there a particular reason you could not wait a few minutes to contact Starfleet?"_

"As I said, Admiral, we believed urgency was essential," Archer explained. "Which turned out to be true. Had we arrived a few minutes later, Lieutenant Reed would probably have been dead."

 _"You take care of your people, Captain,"_ Criech said brusquely. _"That's the only reason that a ship with a replacement for you isn't on an intercept course with you as we speak. Your actions were insubordinate and show disrespect for the chain of command. You're treading on thin ice. However, you did successfully retrieve your officer without any loss of life – this time. See that there is no next time. Please ensure more careful maintenance for your communications array in future."_

Archer blinked, startled by the sudden reprieve. "Yes, sir. I'll have it seen to."

 _"If you can't obey orders, there is no place for you in Starfleet,"_ Admiral Criech reminded sternly. _"Keep that in mind, Captain. You are not a law unto yourself, and there is far more at stake in your mission than one man's life. I will expect your full report on my desk and Admiral Gardner's within two hours. You may not officially be the Enterprise's captain, but a diplomatic technicality is no excuse not to conduct yourself as such. Do I make myself clear?"_

"Perfectly, sir."

 _"Good."_ Criech nodded to Gardner. _"Admiral."_ He moved out of the frame, leaving Gardner alone facing Archer. Gardner waited until the commander in chief had left the room.

 _"You're extremely lucky, Jon."_ Much of the anger had faded from the admiral's face, replaced by something akin to relief. _"He could have fired you on the spot. I'm surprised he didn't."_

"So am I."

 _"He probably would have if you hadn't got your man back,"_ Gardner said. _"How is Lieutenant Reed?"_

Archer wanted to shout in his face, _I told you he was alive, you bastard. Do you believe me now?_ He didn't. If Gardner wasn't dealing with Harris, then it wasn't his fault he'd doubted – he'd been given faulty information. If he _was_ dealing with Harris, there was nothing Archer could do about it and he would get nothing for his finger-pointing. Instead of taking out his anger, Archer spoke calmly.

"He hasn't woken up yet. He's badly injured, but Doctor Phlox says he'll pull through. Phlox is still assessing neural trauma."

 _"Do you have any idea what happened to him?"_

"S'Trep's story is the only explanation we have, at present. So far we've found nothing to contradict what he said."

 _"And you have no idea how it is that Lieutenant Reed initially came to be in Romulan hands? How he somehow turned up light years away from where he's supposed to be dead?"_

Archer swallowed back the accusations that rose in his throat. Harris's smug grin floated, disembodied, in his mind, like the smirk of a Cheshire cat – a bodiless omen.

"None at all, sir."

* * *

After cleaning himself up and changing into a fresh uniform, Tucker returned to Sickbay. He really had nothing better to do; he wasn't on a shift at the moment, and he might as well sleep in Sickbay as in his quarters. This way he could be on hand if anything changed.

He lay on a biobed, dozing to the sound of Phlox and S'Trep conferring in low voices behind the white curtain. He felt oddly relaxed, given the circumstances. Probably it was just exhaustion and relief. In his doze, he dreamed that Phlox was standing by the bed, telling him he needed an amputation and that it wouldn't take long. Tucker woke, vaguely disturbed, as T'Pol and Archer entered Sickbay. Archer looked surprised to find him there.

"Are you alright?"

Tucker slid off the biobed, managing a rueful grin. "Jes' fell asleep."

Phlox emerged from the curtained corner of Sickbay upon hearing them, followed shortly by S'Trep. "Ah, Captain. T'Pol."

"How is he?" Archer asked.

Phlox sent a quick glance at the Romulan before replying. "He's awake, but I'm afraid Medic S'Trep's earlier predictions were accurate. Lieutenant Reed is unresponsive, and the scans we've performed do show an extensive level of neural trauma."

"His condition is quite serious," S'Trep agreed gravely. "Perhaps if he could have been retrieved earlier…"

"Well, he wasn't," Archer said sharply. Tucker felt as if the air had gone out of the room. Both doctors' faces bespoke the worst; they didn't have a way to fix Reed.

"Ain't there somethin' you can do?"

The two doctors shared another look. "It might be possible to repair the damage, with the right equipment," S'Trep said cautiously. "Unfortunately, your ship doesn't have anything that would provide the psychological link that the probe creates."

"I thought this is a physical issue, not a psychological one," Archer observed. "Is a surgical solution possible?"

"The line between psychology and physiology is very blurred when it comes to the brain, Captain," S'Trep explained. "The neural network is far too extensive and delicate to be repaired with surgical procedures. The best way to approach repairing it is to have it repair itself. The mind moulds the brain – a new memory, for example, can create a new neural connection. What I have suggested would be an experimental treatment, I admit, but I believe there would be at least a chance of success. However, I have no access to a mind probe."

"Medic S'Trep," T'Pol said calmly, apparently immune to the pall of hopelessness spreading through the room like a poison, "please describe this psychological link."

"It was developed based on the limited telepathy found in some species," S'Trep explained. "It temporarily bonds the mental pathways of two beings into a single functioning unit, while still allowing one to control the link."

"Doctor," T'Pol remarked to Phlox, "what Medic S'Trep is describing bears extraordinary similarity to a mind meld."

"What are you suggesting, T'Pol?" Archer asked impatiently.

"Perhaps an agent other than a mind probe could be used to establish such a connection," T'Pol explained. "I do not know if it is possible for a Vulcan to serve as an intermediary between two individuals with no telepathic capability, but I am willing to make such an attempt." She turned to the Romulan. "As a Vulcan, I possess the ability to perform a procedure called a 'mind meld.' It is a mental bond very similar to what you have described, except that the participants share equal control over the link. It may be possible for me to establish such a connection between you and Lieutenant Reed."

"Fascinating," S'Trep said softly. "However, it could be extremely dangerous. Without the control which the probe provides to the interrogator, both of us could be subject to the same damage that Lieutenant Reed has experienced. The mind is not a toy to be shaped at will. Even injured it is a powerful force."

"I am well aware of the power of the mind," T'Pol assured the Romulan.

"Are you willing to try this, T'Pol?" Archer asked. "I can't ask you to do it. But if Phlox and S'Trep believe it's worth a try…"

"I betrayed my own people to save Lieutenant Reed's life," S'Trep said. "I am willing to suffer risk to do so again."

"I am not familiar with such a process," Phlox said, "but I agree that it could be extremely dangerous. Please consider this with caution, T'Pol."

"I appreciate your concern, Doctor," the Vulcan said. "However, if restoring Lieutenant Reed's neural pathways is possible, I believe that warrants some level of risk."

* * *

Archer leaned against the wall in Sickbay, watching the final preparations for the meld. T'Pol, deep in meditation, was seated between two biobeds, one of which held S'Trep and the other, Reed. Phlox had insisted that Reed remain under restraint during the procedure, and seeing him now, Archer realised it had been the right call. Reed was not exactly thrashing, but he kept twitching hard against the bonds holding his thin body. His empty grey eyes were open and unmoving, fixed on some undefinable point above him. It was easy to imagine him lashing out at an unwanted mental intrusion.

Archer found it extremely disconcerting to see his former officer changed so. Even after receiving treatment, he looked like a corpse. While not exactly skeletal, he was badly underweight. Much of his skin was dark with bruises. And his eyes – they were so vacant. Archer found it difficult to look at him. This was the man on whom rested all the anger and guilt for the past few weeks? Those eyes looked barely sentient. And yet, somewhere inside there, deeply submerged perhaps beneath a tangle of damaged mental function, was the man who had sworn his allegiance and broken his word for the second time. Somewhere in there was the only person Archer had left to blame besides himself.

Phlox had placed bio-monitors on all three of the participants – not, Archer knew, that it would do much good. If one of them became unstable, Phlox could sedate T'Pol to break the bond, but such a sudden severance could potentially cause just as much damage as the procedure gone wrong.

"Whenever you're ready, Sub-Commander," Phlox said softly, careful not to disturb her concentration.

T'Pol drew and released a long, steady breath. Her hands moved with smooth assurance to settle on the faces of Reed and S'Trep. Reed tried to jerk away. T'Pol's fingers held him there, hard enough to bruise.

"My mind to your minds," T'Pol whispered. "My thoughts to your thoughts. Our minds are merging. Our minds are one." She repeated it softly, steadily, with growing force though she did not raise her voice. A prolonged shudder ran through Reed. He had stopped struggling. T'Pol stiffened suddenly and fell silent.

"Did she do it?"

"I believe Sub-Commander T'Pol was able to establish a meld," Phlox told him, examining readouts on his screen. "Whether it will work – and how long it will take – we won't know until they come out of it."

* * *

"Captain."

Phlox's voice roused Archer from the half-doze that he had fallen into, sitting against the wall of Sickbay. He climbed to his feet to find the Denobulan still at the computer monitor, watching biosign readings.

"I believe the meld is ending, Captain. Sub-Commander T'Pol's heart rate is increasing back to a normal level, as is Medic S'Trep's."

"And Malcolm?"

"No change yet, Captain."

T'Pol shifted slightly. Her hands slid off S'Trep and Reed to hang limply at her side. Archer crouched in front of her.

"T'Pol?" She opened her eyes without response. "Did it work? T'Pol?"

Archer moved aside to let Phlox in with a hand scanner. "Is she alright?"

Phlox scanned the Vulcan carefully and examined her eyes. "T'Pol? Can you hear me?"

T'Pol blinked up at him, and for a second Archer experienced a twist of horror in his gut. Those blank eyes… Then she blinked again, and the image dissolved.

"Doctor." T'Pol's voice was slow and a little slurred.

"Are you well, Sub-Commander?"

"Yes." T'Pol shook her head slightly to clear it. She didn't look ill, Archer thought, just exhausted. "My condition is adequate."

"Did it work?" Archer asked again. T'Pol glanced down at Reed, motionless on the biobed beside her.

"I do not know, Captain."

"The procedure went as planned," S'Trep said. He was sitting up, looking more awake than T'Pol. Archer hadn't even noticed him waking. "I don't know if it worked."

"He is unconscious, but not comatose," Phlox reported, of Reed. "Minimal neural activity, so it's difficult to measure any change at the moment."

T'Pol seemed not to have heard or understood the conversation. "Captain Archer. What time is it?"

Archer anticipated the reason for her question. "We're due to rendezvous with the Vulcan vessels in three hours. Long-range scanners just picked them up."

The Vulcan nodded slowly. "I require rest, Doctor. May I be released to my quarters?"

"I can't find anything wrong with you that a few days of sleep and meditation won't cure," Phlox admitted. "It's up to you. If you think that's wise…"

"Thank you, Doctor." T'Pol rose to her feet and stumbled slightly, catching herself on the edge of Reed's biobed and politely ignoring Archer's proffered hand of assistance.

"Perhaps it would be best if Captain Archer accompanied you to your quarters," Phlox suggested mildly. It was a testament to T'Pol's weariness that she accepted without protest.

* * *

Archer stood by the airlock, waiting for the lead Vulcan ship to dock. There were five ships in total, all warships and each one at least twice the size of the Enterprise. It seemed overkill to Archer, but perhaps the High Council intended to make a show of force to the Orions – or to the Enterprise.

S'Trep stood across from Archer, looking nervous but resigned. Phlox had explained the situation to him several days ago, and although he'd protested being handed over, he had understood that his rescuers had little choice in the matter. T'Pol had assured him that he would be treated with civility. Archer himself wasn't so sure. If the High Council was willing to threaten Starfleet to get their hands on the Romulan, they might be willing to employ other dubious methods to retrieve any desired information from him. He'd kept his suspicions to himself and hoped to avoid interacting with the Vulcans. He didn't want to be the one responsible for handing over a Starfleet guest to the questionable care of the Council.

Unfortunately, T'Pol had failed to appear at the pre-arranged time and Tucker – the acting first officer – had requested Archer's presence to greet the Vulcans as a substitute diplomat. At the moment, Archer felt anything but diplomatic toward the Vulcans.

The door behind Archer opened to admit T'Pol herself, dressed not in her usual form-fitting uniform but instead in a traditional Vulcan outfit – not quite as long and cumbersome as ceremonial robes, but certainly the dressiest outfit he'd ever seen her wear. She looked quite regal, and very Vulcan. Archer knew it must be intentional. If her government believed her compromised by attachments to humans, showcasing her Vulcan side as prominently as possible could only be an advantage. Presumably first impressions, even with Vulcans, went a long way. He examined her face for signs of the exhaustion she had displayed only a few hours previously. She still seemed weary, but she wasn't falling asleep on her feet, and Archer felt that was all he could reasonably ask, given that she'd had less than three hours to recover from a clearly taxing ordeal.

"I regret my tardiness," T'Pol said quietly to Tucker and Archer.

"I'm jes' glad yer here," Tucker said, visibly relieved. "I don't fancy dealin' with these Vulcans. No offense, o' course."

"Nor do I," T'Pol replied, just loud enough for the two of them to hear her. They had no opportunity to speak further, for the airlock door slid open at that moment to admit a trio of Vulcans in military uniform. Archer felt a brief satisfaction that T'Pol was clearly the best dressed of any of the four Vulcans present.

"I am Falok," the first Vulcan introduced himself to T'Pol. "Captain of the Vulcan flagship _Surak_."

A Vulcan warship, the flagship of the Vulcan war fleet no less, named after one of the most famous advocates of peace. Archer could have laughed if the situation had been less serious.

"I am Sub-Commander T'Pol, acting Captain of the Starfleet vessel Enterprise. This is Captain Archer." T'Pol nodded him forward and Archer fixed his features in an expression of polite good graces.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Captain Falok."

The Vulcan inclined his head in acknowledgement and turned toward the Romulan. "You are Medic S'Trep of the Romulan Star Empire?"

"Formerly of the Romulan Star Empire," S'Trep corrected stiffly. He seemed as little disposed to the Vulcans as Archer. One of the men flanking Falok stepped forward towards him.

"Medic S'Trep, I will escort you to your quarters on the _Surak_."

"Captain, before I release this man to you, I require your word that he will be treated as an honoured guest," T'Pol told Falok firmly. "By your crew and by the Vulcan High Council."

Falok studied her with interest. "Very well," he agreed. "You have my word."

"Thank you," Archer told S'Trep. "Thank you for everything you've done. I'm sure we'll meet again."

"I hope that is so, Captain. Please relay my well wishes to Lieutenant Reed."

"I will."

S'Trep followed the Vulcan escort through the airlock and out of sight into the Vulcan ship. Falok turned back to T'Pol and Archer.

"Effective immediately, the High Council relinquishes control of this vessel. Sub-Commander T'Pol, you are relieved of your temporary command. Captain Archer, please accept the apology of the High Council for any inconveniences you experienced due to Sub-Commander T'Pol's command."

 _These damn Vulcans_ , Archer thought. Were they insulting T'Pol, or merely observing human courtesies? It was like dancing with a snake. Every word had a double meaning.

"Sub-Commander T'Pol is never an inconvenience," he said, more coolly than he felt. "Her work is of the highest calibre."

Falok's eyebrows quirked upward. "Indeed. Captain, I trust that your ship can operate adequately without her presence for a few hours? I require a private conference with her aboard my ship."

Archer felt Tucker twitch beside him, with either frustration or amusement. Falok's words expertly twisted Archer's compliment of T'Pol into an accusation of human incompetence.

"I think we'll manage."

"Please contact us if you require assistance," Falok shot over his shoulder as T'Pol followed him and the other Vulcan from the airlock into the _Surak_. The door slid closed behind them.

"Damn," Tucker said in amazement. "I've never seen such bad-tempered logic."

The relief from tension proved too much. Archer found himself grinning helplessly at Tucker's astonishment.

"If we _require assistance…_ "

"I'm not even mad, Cap'n." Tucker was beginning to chuckle. "I don't wonder T'Pol's so stuffy, havin' t' put up with that."

"Don't insult her," Archer scolded jokingly. "I think our friend Captain Falok has that covered for you."

"Poor T'Pol."

"Indeed," Archer said gravely, mimicking the sombre Vulcan manner. Tucker shook his head, laughing.

* * *

A/N: Well, that took me long enough. I'm still hoping to finish this story in the next two weeks or so while I'm on leave, but if the remaining chapters are as difficult as this one, that may not happen.


	15. Chapter 15

The darkness receded.

It was not that it became brighter, and more that he became aware of the darkness and himself within it. It seemed less oppressive as soon as he recognised that it was there. He cast around for some sensation, whether touch, sound, or sight, to ground himself on.

He was lying on something not too soft, but not uncomfortable either. There was someone sitting by his side, holding his hand. He could feel the soft warmth distinctly. "Malcolm?" a woman's voice asked, high with surprise and anxiety. Squinting against the brightness of the light, he managed to slit his eyes open.

"Malcolm? Can you hear me?"

"Yes," he croaked. His throat was painfully dry.

"Do you know who I am?"

He blinked to clear his vision and stared confusedly at her. _What a strange question_. "Hoshi?" he asked uncertainly, wondering if this was some kind of trick. Why should she ask if he knew her?

Sato beamed, her eyes filling with happy tears. "Oh, thank god." She stood up, letting go of his hand. Reed missed the warmth immediately. "Phlox," Sato called softly through the curtains around the bed. "Phlox, he's awake."

He was in Sickbay, then. The white curtains were familiar, as was the biobed he lay on. Dizzily, Reed tried to sit up. Sato came back over and pressed him back down.

"None of that, now."

Reed sank back submissively. Given how strange his head felt, it probably wasn't the brightest idea to try to get up just yet. Phlox came through the curtains, in a hurry.

"He knew who I am, Phlox," Sato said, quietly joyful.

Reed's confusion was beginning to turn into irritation. Sato was acting as if he was some trained pony that had just performed a wonderful new trick.

"Of course I know who you are," he grumbled, wincing as his voice scraped uncomfortably against his sore throat. "Why wouldn't I?"

"That's a story for another time, Mr. Reed," Phlox said. He, too, seemed relieved. "If you would excuse us, Ensign," he said to Sato. "Please inform Captain Archer that I will update him in a few minutes. I don't need anyone rushing in and causing a disturbance at the moment."

"What happened?" There were no immediate clues in his surroundings to suggest to Reed how he had been injured, aside from a general achiness all over, worst in his shoulder, and a sharper throbbing in his side. He tried instinctively to reach for it and in doing so realised that his wrists were tied, secured to the frame of the biobed with leather bands. He was trapped. He kicked fitfully at the blankets imprisoning his legs. "Why…"

"Please relax," Phlox said soothingly. He moved slowly forward and unfastened the bonds around Reed's wrists, watching him carefully as if he expected his patient to attempt escape as soon as he was untied. "Just a precaution."

A precaution for what? Reed struggled for the last thing he could remember and came up with a strangely indistinct recollection of a wire cage in a badly-lit room. He couldn't place where the memory might have originated.

"Why am I here?"

"Relax, Mr. Reed," Phlox soothed. "You've had a bit of a head injury. I assure you, everything will be clear in time."

Reed wanted everything to be clear now. He wrestled with a confusing barrage of half-formed images as he tried again to force his mind to divulge what had happened to land him in Sickbay again.

"Where is the Captain? Let me speak to Captain Archer."

"I need you to rest," Phlox said gently. "You can speak with the Captain later. Lie back, hm?"

"I want to know what happened," Reed insisted weakly. In the very den of the Doctor, he was powerless and knew it.

"I expect you'll remember soon," the Denobulan told him. "If not, perhaps that's for the best." He pursed his lips disapprovingly.

Further protest was useless, and he lacked the energy anyway. Reed subsided resignedly onto the biobed and gave up the argument.

* * *

On the Enterprise's main viewscreen, Archer watched the nearest Vulcan ship rising from the planet Haliia to re-enter orbit. Over the last two days since the arrival of the fleet, the Vulcans had delivered hundreds of tons of relief supplies to the inhabitants of the planet. The Orions had occupied the planet several years previously, overthrowing the Haliian government to set up a Syndicate operation in its stead. The planet had become a hub for slave trade, while the Haliians themselves suffered almost complete economic collapse. Many of them had worked for the Orions simply out of desperation. Those who could not pay taxes imposed by the Syndicate were sold as slaves in Orion markets. Organized resistance had been efficiently and ruthlessly suppressed.

Since the departure of the Orions only a few days ago, the Haliians had begun remarkably concerted efforts to rebuild. A temporary government was in place, and with help from the Vulcans, former slave markets were being converted into hospitals and housing. The High Council had agreed to provide aid to the planet until the government and economy of Haliia was stable enough to support its people.

The Enterprise, in the meantime, waited. Back on Earth, a diplomatic war raged between Starfleet and the High Council. The Vulcan seizure of the Enterprise, however temporary, had sparked outrage and suspicion. An upsurge of xenophobia on Earth had led to protests in several major cities. Within Starfleet, there seemed to be no consensus concerning the Enterprise. Gardner had informed Archer that there was a disagreement over whether the Enterprise should be recalled to Earth to help with diplomatic efforts, or whether abandoning the Enterprise's mission of exploration would be a dangerous concession to Vulcan dominance. For the moment, the Enterprise waited in limbo, a symbolic if not practical human presence in the rebuilding of Haliia.

"Malcolm's awake!"

Sato burst onto the bridge without warning, her announcement eliciting impromptu cheers from the bridge crew. Even Covan joined in the celebration.

"He's a bit disoriented but he's recognized everyone so far," Sato added joyfully.

Archer rose to his feet quickly, but Sato held out a hand of warning.

"Phlox says no visitors yet."

Archer subdued impatience. "Of course. Did he say for how long?"

"No. Sorry, Captain."

Phlox couldn't very well deny access to the Captain if he demanded it. He could cite a Starfleet investigation, or simply pull rank. However, he wouldn't put it past the doctor to have an equally valid citation for enforcing his patient's quarantine; and, as ignoble as it was, Archer wasn't entirely opposed to the idea of postponing for a while the problem of dealing with Reed.

"Patch Phlox through to my ready room." Archer realised, after a second of confusion, that Sato wasn't on duty, and redirected his request to the acting communications officer. He stepped into his ready room as Sato left the bridge, and activated his monitor screen.

 _"Captain Archer, I hoped I'd be hearing from you soon."_

Archer narrowly avoided a flinch of surprise. He glared at the face on the screen.

"What the hell do you want?"

 _"Such hostility, Captain."_ Harris's smile belied the sincerity of his words.

"I don't appreciate having my communications diverted."

 _"I'm sure."_ The agent leaned forward. _"Tell me, how is Malcolm?"_

"Alive," Archer said deliberately. "No thanks to you."

 _"I never meant for him to die, Captain. I knew he would show up again somewhere."_

"You sold him to the Romulans," Archer accused.

 _"That, Captain, is a matter between myself and Malcolm. What is his condition?"_

"I assume you're already aware, otherwise you wouldn't ask." But there was, Archer realised, a faint possibility that Harris actually didn't know. Not all of Reed's treatment had been in official reports.

 _"Contrary to your beliefs, Captain, I am not all-knowing. Your doctor's reports to Starfleet have been somewhat lacking."_

Good for Phlox. "Is that so?"

 _"Concealing information about Malcolm is unhelpful to both of us,"_ Harris told him reproachfully.

"You don't say," Archer snarled. "Perhaps you should have thought about that before you tried to convince me that he was dead!"

 _"Please, Captain, the symbiot was never meant to convince you. It was only to appease Malcolm's guilty conscience and give Starfleet an excuse to ignore your accusations."_

Archer summoned a convincing amount of righteous wrath and chose his words with care. "What did you do to him? Phlox said the neural damage could be permanent."

 _"I did nothing to him,"_ Harris said coolly. _"You have been informative, Captain, if not particularly truthful. I'm well aware of the measures your first officer took to ensure Malcolm's recovery. I'm pleased S'Trep was able to help."_

Archer gritted his teeth in frustration. Harris seemed always to be one step ahead of him, manipulating him easily into every trap he set. He'd been foolish to think that the agent wouldn't already know of Reed's condition. "S'Trep was yours?"

 _"That is not what I said."_

It wasn't what he'd said, but it would make sense. "It's what you meant."

 _"No, Captain. As much as I would like to have a spy among the Romulans, S'Trep is not mine. Unlike on your ship, I do not have eyes everywhere."_

"Malcolm isn't yours," Archer said, with far more conviction than he actually felt. Harris gave a comfortable smile.

 _"No? Perhaps you should ask him. While you're at it, please relay my best wishes for his recovery."_

The screen went black. Archer straightened with a long, aggravated sigh. It was not the first time he'd suspected that Harris's conversations with him were fuelled largely by the agent's desire to bait him. He wondered if the agent had gotten anything at all out of their interaction apart from personal satisfaction. Feeling paranoid, Archer opted not to trust the Enterprise's internal communications systems to be uncompromised, and instead headed down to Sickbay in person. The sound of the sliding door opening brought Phlox hurrying to meet him.

"Captain, I must insist that Lieutenant Reed be allowed to rest."

"I know," Archer assured him. "I came to talk to you. How is he?"

"It appears that S'Trep's procedure was at least partially effective," Phlox explained. "Lieutenant Reed seems to remember everything before the away mission on which he went missing. I suspect some of his memories will return, given time. Since waking he has begun to remember a few scattered details about what happened since the away mission. However, he's somewhat disoriented and can't place when or where the events he recalls took place. My hope is that this is temporary, but even if it is permanent, he does appear to be of sound mind."

It wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing if Reed didn't remember the last few weeks, Archer knew, but he didn't like the thought of never knowing what had really happened. Not that Reed's version of the story would necessarily be accurate. Still, he hoped Phlox's assessment that Reed's memories would return was accurate. Whatever he had done, Archer thought, uncomfortable with himself for thinking it even as he did, Reed deserved to remember all the consequences.

"I understand, Doctor. And physically?"

"The infection has responded to antibiotics. He's healing, if slowly. I suspect that the drugs in his blood may be inhibiting the healing process. They appear to be breaking down more slowly than anticipated."

"Is that a problem?"

"I still cannot give Lieutenant Reed any painkillers, so he is in some discomfort. As far as his long-term recovery goes, however, it should not pose a significant issue."

Reed's comfort was not, at the moment, high on Archer's priority list. "Good. Thank you, Doctor."

As he turned to leave, Sickbay doors opened once more to admit T'Pol. After her return from the _Surak_ , Archer had offered her as much time off-duty as she needed. Thirty hours of rest and meditation had done a world of good. She now seemed none the worse for her exhausting ordeal of a few days earlier.

"Captain, I have a matter of some importance that I wish to discuss with you."

"This is not a conference room, Sub-Commander," Phlox said patiently. "Unless you require my expertise, please relocate your conversation elsewhere."

"What is it, T'Pol?" Archer asked when they were outside.

T'Pol clasped her hands behind her back in a motion that reminded Archer of that informal at-ease position Reed used when reporting in to him. He dismissed the thought, irked.

"It concerns S'Trep," T'Pol said. "I do not believe he is who he said he is."

"Really," Archer said, not without sarcasm. He began walking back to the bridge. "That's new." T'Pol ignored the impoliteness.

"He is not a Romulan, Captain. He is a Vulcan."

"What?" Archer stopped, staring at her in disbelief. "That's not possible. What are you talking about?"

"It is quite possible. I performed a meld with him," T'Pol reminded.

"Yes, two days ago," Archer said sharply. "If you thought this, why didn't you say so then?"

"Because I did not remember."

"It just slipped your mind? I thought Vulcans had eidetic memories!"

"If you will restrain your emotional reaction, I will explain," T'Pol said firmly. "Some time ago, I asked you for help with a personal matter. A man named Menos was involved. Do you remember?"

Archer did remember. The incident had been one of the first times he had come to appreciate the high regard that T'Pol held him in. Since then his trust in her had only grown. He wasn't sure she could say the same about him.

"Yes."

"At that time also I suffered difficulty remembering past events. I was subjected to a procedure called the Fullara, which involves the use of a mind meld to suppress memories."

Archer was beginning to understand. "So you're saying S'Trep used this Fullara on you?"

"Essentially yes, Captain. However, it takes more than one experienced melder to perform the Fullara correctly. Had I never experienced the procedure before, I have no doubt that his technique would have been successful. In my meditations I noticed symptoms similar to those caused by the first Fullara. I recognized them only because of my previous experience. Still, it has taken me several sessions of intensive meditation to be certain of this, and I still lack many details."

"What's a Vulcan doing mixed up in all this?" Archer asked helplessly. "And why does he look like a Romulan?"

"Physiologically altering Vulcan agents of the Ministry of Security is hardly an uncommon practice," T'Pol pointed out. "Menos was only one of many similarly disguised Vulcans. I suspect the Ministry is capable of effecting physiological changes on a deeper level than simply the aesthetic. To all but the most intensive scans, he would appear to be a Romulan. It is entirely possible that he was undercover in the Star Empire for many years. If anyone did discover the deception, he could simply meld with them and induce forgetfulness, as he did with me."

"Why would the High Council want a spy among the Romulans?"

"I believe the relevant question is, why would the High _Command_ want a spy among the Romulans? As you know, there have been dramatic political changes among my people in recent years. It is possible that the High Command desired a spy among the Romulans, while the High Council prefers to pursue more diplomatic measures. Because S'Trep was so deeply undercover, it may have taken years for the High Council to safely contact him. I suspect that Lieutenant Reed provided a welcome opportunity to escape the Romulan ship without exposing S'Trep's true identity, which would most likely bring the Romulan Empire once again to the brink of war with the Vulcans."

"I suppose that's why the High Council was so eager to get their hands on him," Archer observed.

"It would put the Council in an undesirable position to have their agent publicly exposed," T'Pol agreed. "Such an event could instigate an interstellar war."

The phrase caught Archer's attention. A long time ago, it seemed now, Harris had also spoken of an interstellar war. He filed the thought away for future examination.

"There's something I don't understand. Why did S'Trep help Malcolm? Surely he risked exposure by melding with you."

"He did not realise his procedure would not succeed on me. He had every reason to believe he could help Lieutenant Reed without being revealed. I see no reason why he would not take advantage of every possible opportunity to encourage good feeling towards himself and to alleviate suspicion. My presence allowed him a safe way to access Lieutenant Reed's mind."

"Phlox should have seen this," Archer growled. "I don't care how good the disguise is."

"I believe he did," T'Pol said sombrely. "Mind melds are effective on many humanoid species, not only Vulcans."

Archer remembered suddenly the Denobulan's request to discuss S'Trep with him and his accompanying reluctance to speak in front of the supposed Romulan. He'd been confused when approached about it later, seeming not to remember the conversation.

"He wiped Phlox's memory."

"It is possible, Captain. Even likely, in my estimation."

If he had stopped to listen to Phlox's warning, Archer realised, he would have leverage against the High Council, to protest their seizure of the Enterprise – and he could have prevented an assault on one of his staff. With difficulty he subdued the unproductive guilt welling up. Suspicion took its place all too willingly. Had T'Pol truly only just managed to decipher what S'Trep had done to her? Or had she intentionally waited until the supposed Romulan was out of his reach before telling him?

"Is there any way to know for sure if he melded with the doctor?"

* * *

Back in Sickbay, Archer and Phlox retreated into the doctor's office with T'Pol.

"Is there a problem, Captain?" The Denobulan seemed surprised and faintly exasperated to see them back so soon.

"There may be." Archer nodded to T'Pol. The First Officer relayed as succinctly as possible her conclusions about S'Trep's identity

"We think S'Trep may have altered your memories to prevent you from realising he was a Vulcan when you examined him," Archer explained. Phlox was taken aback, but dutifully considered the suggestion.

"I suppose it's possible," he admitted thoughtfully. "I was alone with S'Trep on several occasions during and shortly after my initial examination."

"T'Pol thinks she may be able to find out," Archer told the Denobulan. "It will involve a mind meld."

"I see."

"T'Pol has agreed to perform the meld if you are willing. I can't order you, but I'd like for you to do this."

Phlox considered his clasped hands. "May I ask a question, Captain?"

"Of course."

"What is the purpose of performing this meld? Will any information T'Pol may retrieve help Lieutenant Reed?"

"Unlikely," T'Pol said. Archer frowned.

"We don't know that."

"Will it change the political situation in any way?"

"Also unlikely," T'Pol answered, ignoring Archer's displeasure. "Although Administrator T'Pau has changed the attitude of many Vulcans toward melding, it is still far from being admissible in court. The High Council could easily deny evidence obtained through a meld. Starfleet, too, has no official policy on melding. Given the circumstances, it is unlikely that my findings would be looked upon as anything but unfounded accusations."

"So this meld is merely a matter of curiosity?"

"It's more than that," Archer argued. "We may be able to confirm S'Trep's identity…"

"We may be able to confirm it to ourselves," Phlox corrected. "But if I understand T'Pol, information gained through a meld is useless in an official capacity."

Archer didn't have a good answer.

"I'm sorry, Captain," Phlox said softly. "I am not willing to perform the meld without a useful purpose. I understand your desire to know; however, I see no point in pursuing knowledge simply for personal satisfaction."

"Don't you want to know what happened?"

"Of course, Captain. But regardless of what T'Pol might discover, our course of action cannot be affected by it."

"Phlox –"

The Denobulan lifted his chin firmly. "If changing circumstances make it possible to use the information gained through a meld, I am willing to revisit such a question. Until such a time, Captain, this is my final decision."

Archer felt trapped. He couldn't force Phlox to undergo a meld, but the thought that he might never know the truth about S'Trep nagged at him. "Very well, Doctor."

* * *

Despite the peaceful atmosphere of Sickbay, Reed's hands and legs twitched involuntarily with restless energy, matched by his racing mind. He lay on his uninjured side under the light blanket with his back against the rail of the bed. He felt more comfortable with his back against something solid. The pain gnawing at his side and shoulder swelled up until it became almost an obsession. It was by no means unbearable, but he had little to distract him from it and his own thoughts.

Phlox came and went occasionally, often enough to keep Reed awake and wired. He wondered what the doctor thought he would do if left alone for too long. Gnaw on the bed rails, perhaps? He supposed it wasn't out of the question. There was really no telling what he might do in his current state of combined exhaustion and hyper-awareness. He wanted to get out of bed and pace, but he was too physically weary to move. Phlox told him that he was malnourished and that was why he was so weak. He didn't feel weak, just heavy with tiredness. He wanted to sleep but didn't quite dare, even if he could have with the Denobulan's regular intrusions into his little white curtain-bound shell of safety. He hadn't been able to sleep more than a quick doze here and there since he'd woken. A vague, nameless fear whispered that if he slept, he would wake to find himself somewhere other than the Enterprise.

The doctor asked him at semi-regular intervals about what he could remember. By now, the pieces were falling into place with shaky certainty. Parts of his recollection were more hazy than others; he remembered few details of the Romulan ship, but the fire-lit faces of the Orions' slaves, trapped in cages and screaming themselves hoarse as smoke choked them, stood out in stark clarity. The Enterprise had sent an away team for him, he knew now, but he hadn't recognized them. Perhaps if he had revealed himself, the firefight could have been averted. No one would have had to die. Phlox always seemed wary when he broached the question, as if he expected a violent reaction, but his concerns were unwarranted. All Reed seemed able to muster when he thought about the events that had brought him here was a sick sort of guilty unrest. It didn't seem right, how much he had done for Harris – and to what gain? The balance did not add up. He hoped that whatever Harris had gotten from the Romulans in exchange for him had been worth it.

From time to time he heard other voices outside the curtains as people came and talked to the doctor, presumably about Reed's health or what was to be done with him. He felt apologetic whenever he heard them. What was to be done with him, really? Certainly he was to be court-martialled, or discharged from Starfleet, or incarcerated, or something of that nature. But so far from Earth, it must be an inconvenience to have him removed from the ship. He wondered if Archer regretted finding him. The whole situation would have been less complicated if he had simply died out there.

No one apart from Phlox had yet been allowed inside the curtains since Reed's awakening. On the one hand, this was reassuring: the flimsy security perimeter of the curtains remained mostly un-breached. However, given how difficult it was to judge the passage of time without a chronometer and with Phlox's steadfast refusal to tell him the time – saying that he 'shouldn't worry about such things. Recovery will take its time, hm?' – Reed was constantly haunted by the notion that he should have made a report to the captain by now. He got the impression that Phlox had absolutely refused to let anyone question him yet. The isolation made him wonder if it was for his safety or for the safety of others that he was kept separated. The inability to mark time was a thorn in his side. Reed tried to count seconds by tapping on one of the bed rails, but that quickly grew exhausting; and besides, it always brought Phlox in with a pensive and doctorly expression on his face that probably meant he was drawing unpleasant conclusions about his patient's sanity. By Reed's best guess, about two days had gone by since he had awoken. But it could have been any amount of time, really.

Sometimes, presumably by night, Phlox turned down the lights to try to get him to sleep. At those times, when Sickbay was dark and quiet and he drifted on the edge of a wakeful doze, Reed wondered if anything had really changed at all. This could still be a Romulan ship, or an Orion cage, and he just a hallucinating dreamer. The clearer his memory grew, the more distinct this impression became. When the lights went back on, he tried to banish these thoughts so they would not show when Phlox came to check on him.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I think I forgot this on the last few chapters. Still not mine.

* * *

"How are you doing?"

"Fine, sir."

Reed looked exhausted. The dark circles under his eyes contrasted starkly with his pale face. He hadn't been sleeping well, Phlox had said. Seeing him now, Archer took that to mean he hadn't been sleeping at all.

"Phlox told me you're doing better." These were in fact not the doctor's words at all. What he had said was that Reed was 'lucid' and that Archer 'should be tactful.' In other words, Reed was delicate at the moment. Archer wasn't used to having to regulate his words around the Lieutenant. Especially now, torn maddeningly between concern and anger, he wanted nothing more than have at the man with the force of all this mess behind his words.

"Yes, sir."

"That's good."

It had been three days since Reed had woken, and Phlox had only just granted Archer permission to speak with him, and then only after strict lecturing. As much as he respected the Denobulan's medical expertise, however, Archer needed to talk to Reed bluntly. Phlox had stepped away to give them privacy, and Archer decided that if his former tactical officer was uncomfortable with something then he could damn well speak up about it.

"I spoke with Harris. After you left."

Reed's eyes flicked up to meet his, then skimmed away. His fingers tugged restlessly at a fold in the thin blanket. Archer waited for him to speak, but nothing was forthcoming.

"You told me you wouldn't contact him again."

"I didn't." The twitching fingers tightened. "He contacted me, Captain."

"You should have reported it to me immediately."

Again, there was no answer. Archer resisted the urge to grind his teeth. Only Phlox's warning that Reed was still in a fragile state prevented him from snapping at the man.

"Why didn't you?"

Reed shook his head, not in refusal to answer the question but rather by way of suggesting that this had never been an option.

"I could have stopped this," Archer said in helpless anger. "All this, Malcolm. It didn't have to happen. You could have been on the Enterprise all this time, not…" he only just stopped himself from throwing directly in Reed's face the torture that he had undergone. Unsettled by his own inhumanity, Archer rose and paced a tight line along the side of the bed. Reed's grey eyes followed every move. Archer turned sharply upon him and pinned Reed's gaze before it could flick away.

"Malcolm, why didn't you report it? I want an answer."

"Sir, I – didn't have a choice."

"What does he have on you?" Archer knew he had hit a nerve by the crease in Reed's forehead. "Was he blackmailing you?" A flutter of hope stirred up. Blackmailing suggested that wrongs had been done in the past, yes, but at least it would give some kind of justification now. It would shift at least a fraction of the blame.

"No." Reed steeled himself visibly. "I went of my own free will, Captain. I'll accept whatever punishment you see fit."

"Dammit, I don't want to punish you," Archer barked, lowering his voice so that Phlox would not hear. "I want you to tell me why I shouldn't!"

Reed blinked. "I can't," he admitted softly. "I'm sorry."

"I don't want your apologies. That's not good enough."

Reed bowed his head in downtrodden acknowledgement. Archer wanted to shake him. This passive acceptance was so unlike Reed, so unlike what he needed Reed to be right now. He wanted explanations, not apologies.

"If you wanted to leave this mission, you could have just told me that."

"I didn't want to leave," Reed protested.

"That's not what I'm seeing."

"Captain," Reed said desperately, "please believe me. I wouldn't have left if there were any other way. But my – duty –"

"Was to immediately report to me that Harris had contacted you!" Archer's voice rose in aggravation. "Don't bring duty into this. You had a duty to me, and you chose to completely ignore that. I ordered you not to be in contact with Harris, and I expected you to obey that order without exception."

It hadn't been without exception, though. He had sent Reed back to Harris for information. The thought nagged at Archer, despite repeated efforts to push it away. Did that have anything to do with this? Was there, perhaps, some unspoken threat hanging over Reed's head, forcing him to repay the debt? Archer did not ask. He didn't want to know.

 _He still could have come to me._ It felt like a feeble excuse.

"Yes, sir."

"How long were you planning this?"

"Just over twelve hours," Reed told him. That corresponded with what Archer already knew.

"At least you're telling me the truth about one thing."

Reed winced, and Archer felt a twinge of regret. He was justifiably angry, but it was no excuse for petty spite. He brushed off the discontent with himself.

"I don't understand this, Malcolm," he said heavily. "I want to understand, but you're not helping me. Show me why I shouldn't throw you straight into the brig right now. Show me why you deserve another chance."

 _Because I don't want you to be a traitor. I don't want to believe that I could have been so wrong about you._ How vain. Was his own desire to be a good judge of character part of his motivation for insisting that there had to be some good reason for Reed's actions? Or was it his own beleaguered morals speaking, trying to convince him that he was giving the man a fair chance?

He had meant for the words to give Reed an opening, but they were clearly received as a threat. Reed's face looked even whiter than it had when Archer first came in.

"I don't deserve another chance, Captain." His voice was raw. "I'm sorry, sir. I can't tell you any more than I have."

"You haven't told me anything." Archer didn't expect an answer, which was just as well. He tried again.

"Harris sends his regards, but I expect he'll get the chance to tell you himself soon enough."

It was a low blow, and he knew it. He didn't have anything else left. The imprint of the words reflected back at him in Reed's eyes.

"Sir, I don't intend to –" Reed spoke quietly, pausing to amend his words. "I _won't_ speak with him again."

"It seems to me I've heard that before."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop. I've heard that too, and I don't believe it anymore." The anger had solidified to a dull mass in his stomach. "I'd just like to know one thing." He knew better than to say it. "Did you ever intend to keep your word to me, or was everything you've ever said just another lie?"

Archer left without another word, not wanting to see the effect of his vicious words. He didn't return to the bridge, but instead locked himself in his quarters and sank into his desk chair, burying his sore head in his hands.

He'd gone too far. He'd let his own personal outrage override his professional judgement, something he would never have done in his early years as the Enterprise's captain. What had happened to him since then? The Expanse had changed him; he hadn't realised how much. _Excuses._ The Expanse hadn't changed him – he had allowed himself to change. Bit by slow bit he had permitted his morals to take second place to what he'd called the mission. But had it really been the mission? Taking engine parts from another vessel, leaving its crew stranded dozens of years from their home with no hope of return; ignoring his senior officers' protests, thus destroying the checks and balances that a captain's authority was always meant to have; he had even sunk so far as murder, in the name of saving a life. Harris's use of the clone had served to underscore Archer's own actions. How could he internally condemn Harris for such a deed when he himself had done exactly the same thing?

Unbidden, the thought of Tucker's clone crept into Archer's mind. He had tried to stay away from Sickbay during the few days it took for the clone to mature, but he had seen it as a child. There had been such innocence in that face. Had Reed's clone been the same, before it, too was brutally murdered? Had Reed himself once had that youthful innocence in his eyes, before it was stamped out by someone with words as cruel as Archer's own?

In trying to save humanity, Archer realised with a painful twist of irony, he had lost his own humanity.

Loathing for his own actions, for his own broken morals, washed through Archer. He wanted to bury himself in his misery, but he didn't have that luxury.

Archer rose and went into the bathroom, where he ran damp fingers through his hair to smooth it. Whatever harm he had done, he could not take back. But he couldn't hide away from his own mistakes. He was the captain of this ship for better or for worse. He had a crew that needed his leadership, not his regret for fallen ideals. Phlox would take care of Reed; Archer trusted him to do so. Maybe after some time had passed, he could go back and apologize. To Reed. To Phlox. It might do some good, or it might not. But for now, his only option was to keep moving forward, to keep trying to fix this mess, even if he was flying blind.

Porthos came sniffing around Archer's feet, whining for attention. Archer wished that all of his crew members were as simple as the beagle.

* * *

"How's he doin', Doctor? Chompin' at th' bit yet?"

Tucker felt oddly tense as he entered Sickbay. He knew he shouldn't: if anything, he should be relieved. Finally, the secret was out – part of it, anyway. Archer had concocted an official story to be distributed among the crew, while the truth as far as Tucker knew it remained between himself, Phlox, T'Pol, and Archer. Until Reed's version of the story was heard, Archer had made the call to keep quiet anything that would reflect poorly on the Lieutenant. Phlox had thrown up some convenient medical red tape that Starfleet was currently hacking at in an unsuccessful attempt to force Reed to make an official report. The doctor had not needed convincing to declare his patient unfit to be questioned. Whether this was to protect Reed for as long as possible, or because he actually wasn't fit to be questioned, Tucker didn't know. At any rate, it had bought Reed time.

There was no reason, Tucker told himself, for him to feel uncomfortable speaking to Reed, always assuming Phlox permitted it. Surely, there was an explanation somewhere for Reed's actions. Tucker had to believe that even if Reed had deserted, there had been a reason – if not an entirely legitimate reason, at least an appropriately compelling one.

Instead of displaying the wry amusement that Tucker expected in response to his question, Phlox only frowned slightly. "Well, he doesn't want to be here, if that's what you mean."

"What is it, Doc?" Tucker asked, concerned by the unanticipated reaction. "Is something wrong?"

"Not exactly. Yes," Phlox amended immediately. "The Captain had a word with Lieutenant Reed. A few choice words, it seems."

Tucker wanted to strangle Archer. "What did he say?"

"I don't know," the Denobulan admitted. "I was in my office."

"Can I talk t' Malcolm?"

Phlox eyed Tucker critically. "That depends on what you intend to say. If you can restrain the urge to aggressively demand answers, I suppose I can permit it."

Demanding answers was more or less exactly what Tucker wanted to do, but at the moment his own needs could not take precedence. Which meant that all the questions swirling inside Tucker's mind, stirring up the anger and hurt, would have to wait. Getting answers to his own pain and disappointment was second to Reed's wellbeing.

"I'll be careful, doc.".

"Very well," Phlox sighed "But _please_ ," he insisted, "remember that he is recovering from mental trauma. Do not agitate him in any way."

Tucker had almost been expecting to find something terrible based on Phlox's grim words, but although Reed was still far too thin, he actually looked much better than the last time Tucker had seen him – limp, unconscious, and bloody on a stretcher, being whisked off to Sickbay. At least he wasn't covered in blood anymore. The bruising around his nose had faded to a sickly yellowish. He was still pale, but maybe that was normal. Tucker was surprised at the genuine rush of gladness and relief that he felt upon seeing Reed alive and whole, despite his own anxieties and his questions.

"Hey, Malcolm."

"Hey." Reed's voice was slightly hoarse, as if he couldn't be bothered to put in the extra effort to sound awake or enthusiastic.

"How're yew doin'?"

"Fine." Reed summoned a faint smile. "Well enough for visitors, apparently."

Joking about Phlox's protectiveness seemed a reasonably safe topic of conversation. "Doc gave me all th' warnings before he let me in."

"That sounds about right. Did he include 'fragile, handle with care'?" There was a hint of bitterness in the words. Tucker wasn't sure if Reed was serious.

"It's part of th' standard procedure."

"Of course." Reed tapped lightly on the bed rail until he noticed Tucker watching. "How long has it been? Since you brought me back," he clarified upon seeing Tucker's confusion.

"About a week. Six days, maybe."

"Phlox won't tell me the time," Reed explained, almost apologetic. "I didn't know." He shifted restlessly. "Where are we? The Enterprise, I mean."

Tucker was grateful to be given something to talk about. "A planet called Haliia. It was occupied by the Orions until a week ago. Th' Vulcans are helpin' the Haliians rebuild. We're here for diplomatic reasons. Meanin', I suppose, that Starfleet wants a slice of th' pie."

Reed blinked uncomprehendingly at him. "Starfleet wants an in with th' Haliians," Tucker translated. "Fer when their economy gets runnin' agin."

"Haliia," Reed repeated slowly. "Is that where I was?"

"It's where we found yew, yeah."

"The Vulcans are here? Why?"

Tucker whistled softly. "Now that's a story. D'yew remember S'Trep?" Reed nodded, frowning. "Th' Vulcan High Council heard about him and demanded we give him t' them," Tucker explained. "They commandeered th' Enterprise, threatened t' attack us if we didn't put T'Pol in command until Vulcan warships arrived t' take S'Trep. Starfleet cooperated. What else could we do? We're no match fer the Vulcans."

"But why?" Reed asked warily. "What did they want with him?"

Tucker shook his head. "Couldn't tell yew. We were still waitin' for th' Vulcans when the Orions cleared out. Their sensor shielding went down." He grinned conspiratorially. "We weren't supposed t' leave the ship, but T'Pol let slip that she detected a human life sign on th' surface. Communications weren't workin', an' the Cap'n and I figured we couldn't wait fer permission."

"You disobeyed orders?"

"I think it was fer a good cause, don't yew?"

Reed ignored the question. "You could have been court-martialled, and Captain Archer." His eyes widened in alarm. "You aren't –?"

"No. I guess Starfleet has bigger problems right now, with th' High Council. But lissen, Malcolm, we'd have done it anyway. There's things more important than a career."

Reed considered this without expression.

"Trip, I left."

"I know."

"No, you don't. There was…Harris." He shook his head, confused. "I thought – but it doesn't matter. I chose to leave. I deserted."

"I – I know."

Tucker had known, but he'd been hoping otherwise. He'd wanted there to be an explanation. Surely, that wasn't the whole story. There had to be more.

"You know?" Reed was startled. "But – the body."

"Phlox realised it was a clone within hours, but yew were gone. We searched the planet, but Starfleet was breathin' down th' Cap'n's neck. They didn't believe the body wasn't yew. An' we had no idea where t' look. So the Cap'n put a story out that yew were dead. Phlox an' T'Pol an' I knew you weren't, but everyone else…"

"You weren't supposed to know," Reed protested, agitated.

"Maybe yer not as sneaky as yew think."

Reed dropped his eyes to the blankets covering him. "Why…did you come for me?"

"What are yew talkin' about? Of course we came."

"I deserted, Trip. Why would you risk your career for me?"

 _Maybe because we're more loyal than you._ Tucker suppressed a pang of guilt at the thought. "Come on, Malcolm. You'd do the same."

"No," Reed said quietly. "I don't think I would."

"Oh." Tucker felt suddenly cold. "Oh. Well…we did."

"You shouldn't have."

"Yew woulda died."

Reed's face closed off. "I know."

"What th' hell are yew talkin' about? You wish yew woulda died?"

"No," Reed answered quickly. "No. But perhaps Captain Archer would have preferred that." His mouth twisted in a wry grimace.

"He damn well wouldn't," Tucker protested, although the urge to strangle Archer had begun to resurface. "Don't be stupid. What did he say t' yew?"

"Nothing."

It wasn't like Reed to sit back and take unprofessionalism, even from Archer. He'd always been scrupulously respectful with the captain, but pacifism was hardly his style.

"What happened t' yew, Malcolm?"

Reed watched him warily, seeming to interpret the question as an accusation.

"That's a long story."

"I got time."

But Reed was shaking his head. "I'm sorry. You can't ask me that."

Tucker left shortly with the knowledge that if he'd intended to cheer up either Reed or himself, he'd been absolutely ineffectual.

* * *

"I don't see why I can't visit him too," Sato complained.

"I guess Phlox doesn't want a whole lot of people in there at th' moment. Too disruptive or somethin'."

"Come on. He knows I wouldn't be disruptive."

Tucker shrugged. He knew perfectly well that disruptiveness was not the reason for the restrictions on who could visit Reed. Archer had ordered Phlox to turn away anyone who knew only the cover story for Reed's disappearance – in other words, anyone but himself, Tucker, and T'Pol. If Archer was worried about Reed telling someone about what had actually happened, Tucker thought bitterly, he needn't worry. There was little chance of that. Reed seemed patently determined to tell only the part of the story that was most condemning to him.

"How was he?" Sato asked, lowering her voice to avoid being heard in the crowded mess hall.

"Different," Tucker admitted. He found himself reluctant to tell Sato about the strange apathy he'd seen in Reed. "He seemed kinda out of it. Maybe he's jes' tired."

Sato's forehead creased with concern. "I hope so."

"He'll be fine," Tucker said with more confidence than he felt. "Phlox is a good doctor."

"That is not what I'm worried about," Sato assured him with a wry smile. Tucker searched for something to distract her attention away from Reed.

"How's it coming with th' Haliians?"

"I've got the translator mostly calibrated to their language," Sato explained. "Haliian is remarkably similar to several Earth languages. I suspect that the similarity in physiology between Haliian and human vocal structures resulted in the parallels between the languages. It's really quite something."

"I'm sure it is, but I meant all th' diplomatic stuff."

"I'm only a go-between," Sato reminded him. Over the past few days, an Earth ambassador had been in long-distance communication with a Haliian diplomat, with Sato conferenced into the link as an interpreter. "But I think the Haliians are a lot more interested in relations with the Vulcans than with us. To be fair, the Vulcans do have more technology to offer. I get the feeling that the Haliians are talking with us mainly because we're on good terms with the Vulcans."

"Are we?" Tucker asked pointedly. "Las' time I checked, th' Vulcan consulate on Earth was vandalized. I don't think I'd call that good terms."

"That was an isolated incident," Sato protested. "We still have an alliance with the Vulcans. This will blow over in time."

"Maybe we shouldn't let it."

"What do you mean?" Sato frowned at him. "I know you're not happy about what they did, no one is. But that's no reason to talk about breaking off a decades-old alliance."

"That's not what I meant. I jes' want t' know why no one's askin why the Vulcans decided t' threaten us over that Romulan."

"I'm sure Starfleet's asking."

"Behind closed doors, maybe."

"Don't be so paranoid, Trip," Sato said exasperatedly. "The Vulcans don't trust the Romulans, they probably just want to question S'Trep to make sure he's not a spy."

If he was paranoid, Tucker thought, then he had good reason to be. He'd been part of one conspiracy ever since Reed's disappearance. Now, in the actions of the High Council, he could see the unmistakable signs of another cover-up. But what did the Vulcans have to hide?

"I'm sure it's jes' that."

He had become far too comfortable with lying. He could appease Sato with falsehoods almost without noticing his own deception. Tucker swallowed back his remorse and returned Sato's guileless smile. Telling her the truth, he argued to his discomfort, would only hurt her. He might be lying, but it was for Sato's protection. He had to believe it was the right thing to do.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: Not mine.

* * *

Phlox finally released Reed to his quarters after two weeks, under strict orders to report to Sickbay every day for evaluation. Reed had the feeling that the doctor didn't quite trust his progress, as if he thought that Reed were somehow secreting food under his blankets instead of eating it or claiming perfect equanimity when in fact nightmares had kept him up the entire night. This second was closer to the truth, if still inaccurate. Nightmares was not exactly the right word, because the lingering images rarely resolved into anything identifiable, but he woke often in a cold sweat, half-convinced the walls were closing in on him. But Phlox didn't need to know that; it was certainly not a reason that Reed should stay in Sickbay.

 _Released to quarters_ did not, of course, mean that he would be back in the accommodations he had previously used on the Enterprise. Those were currently inhabited by his replacement. He hadn't met Lieutenant Covan, but he'd heard mention of the man and had read his personnel file out of curiosity as soon as Phlox had allowed him a PADD. Covan was the first Andorian to graduate from Starfleet Academy – one of the first non-humans, period. He had apparently caused quite a stir on his home-world by his apparent defection, and though Andoria and Earth were currently on civil terms, Covan was not regarded highly with his kind. Reed wondered what had driven the Andorian to defy his entire planet.

Because he no longer had quarters on the Enterprise, two of Reed's former staff had volunteered to give up their room and share with others. Reed knew how small crew rooms were – barely enough space for two, and yet his crewmen were readily offering to crowd in three to give him a room of his own. His instinct had been to refuse, and perhaps to take Tucker up on the offer to share his larger quarters. Instead, on further consideration, he had taken the room.

It wasn't that he objected to having Tucker as a roommate. But having a roommate at all would be a severe detriment to his privacy, which had become all the more important to him in the last couple of weeks in Sickbay. Chances were that his unsettled sleep wouldn't go unnoticed. He didn't need Phlox to have an extra set of eyes on him.

Reed prowled restlessly around the small room, feeling stifled. It was strange to be free in the ship with no place there – nowhere to go, nothing to do. He was as trapped now as he had been in the biobed under Phlox's watchful eye.

Reed wondered how free he actually was. Neither Phlox nor anyone else had mentioned him being restricted to only certain areas of the ship, although Archer had made it abundantly clear that Reed was no longer trusted. With good reason, Reed knew, but the attack had only hurt more because of that. But even Archer had assigned no confinement. Reed had not seen him since the disastrous conversation in Sickbay, but the Captain could easily have communicated through Phlox or anyone else if he wanted Reed restricted.

Given his current lack of job, Reed was essentially a civilian on the ship. And yet he wasn't; regardless of the circumstances, he still retained his rank and security clearance until they were officially revoked. If he was in any kind of legal trouble as far as Starfleet was concerned – which he very well might be – he had heard nothing about it. He was in a strange limbo – neither officer nor civilian, but something of both. He wished he could return to the Armoury and take up his job as if he'd never left it.

It was impossible, of course. Even if Archer hadn't confined him, he would hardly allow Reed to resume work. Still, perhaps working would help him shake off the feeling of Phlox's eyes ever upon him, waiting for him to make a mistake. Waiting for him to show some sign of incompetence. In Sickbay, and even now, there was constant pressure to perform to the doctor's pre-defined standard of where his recovery should be at this point. It was enough to make anyone in perfect health begin to question their own sanity. If he could have a few days to not worry about how his recovery looked to others, Reed thought wryly, he would probably be much more recovered.

 _And what exactly would those few days look like? Curled up in a bed where you never sleep anyway? Shivering in terror at the slightest sound? What do you have to hide?_

It wasn't that he was hiding something, Reed told himself aggravatedly. It was just the feeling of always needing to give the right impression that made actual improvement difficult. Say the right things, match the body language, move neither too fast nor too slow. Eat and sleep on a perfect schedule.

 _But that's what you should be doing anyway. If you're not hiding anything, then why do you have to perform?_

He just wanted to go back to work. If he was unsettled, it was because he didn't know what to do with himself. Satisfied for the moment with this explanation, Reed resumed his pacing, which had paused as he considered this point. A circle of the room made nine steps. His own nine paces of at least partial privacy. Nine paces to drive himself crazy with his own solitude while he waited for the hail of judgement to begin.

But he hadn't been _told_ to stay in the room. If anything, by telling him to get plenty to eat and to visit Sickbay daily, Phlox had insinuated that he was free to move about parts of the ship. Why not the rest? The Armoury, at any rate, was closer than either Sickbay or the mess hall. He couldn't work, but what was to prevent him going down to see how his staff had fared in his absence? Perhaps he'd even get the chance to meet his replacement. And at the very least, recovery in public was better than in private. There was less chance that people – that Phlox – would think he was huddled fearfully in his quarters with the door barred if he was out in public socializing.

Thus decided upon his course of action, Reed disengaged the emergency deadbolt, unlocked the door, and left, wondering how much his department had changed since he had left nearly three months earlier. Would he be welcomed or had his staff moved on without a second's thought? He had received one communication from Archer since the captain had cornered him in Sickbay – a memo sent to the crew some days previously, forwarded to him with no accompanying message. It had been the public story of Reed's rescue. From it, he understood that most of the crew were under the impression that the entire situation was a cleverly arranged kidnapping by Orion slave traders that had targeted Reed simply because he'd been the most isolated member of the away team back on that planet they'd been exploring. S'Trep had been explained as a fellow captive who had spent much of the time with Reed but had managed to escape only after they had been separated. Reed's incapacitation over the past weeks was written off as illness due to his captivity.

It was a fairly watertight story, skipping over all the awkward details of Section 31 and the Romulans. Reed assumed that Archer intended for him to stick to that story until instructed otherwise. He was quite satisfied with the doctored version of the truth, except for the damning fact that it entirely skipped over his voluntary decision to leave. He couldn't even tell anyone the most important truth, the one that would lead to distrust and hatred. It was a dangerous secret to have. A dangerous, a stupid thing to have done.

The only small consolation he had left was that his debt was repaid. _Archer's_ debt was repaid. The obligation he'd unwillingly incurred on Archer's orders was gone. Section 31 had no remaining claim on him.

That was as comforting as it was untrue. The Section would always have a claim on him. But now, Harris had no unsettled debt with which to leverage him. _And he never will again_ , Reed promised himself. That was a great relief. It was also too late to do him any good.

Reed entered the Armoury quietly, hoping not to draw attention to himself. He wanted an accurate feel, untainted by his presence, for how the place had changed. However, he was afforded no such opportunity. Ensign Tanner caught sight of him two steps in and called the entire Armoury to attention. Reed paused, shocked.

It was of course routine procedure in Starfleet to call a room to attention when a superior officer in the chain of command entered. However, such policy had long since been abandoned in weapons and engineering divisions because of the nature of the work: it wasn't wise to drop what you were doing, even for a senior officer, when what you were doing involved antimatter or explosives. Archer had quickly disposed of the regulation throughout the entirety of the Enterprise. He wasn't the type to stand on ceremony, and had argued that it reduced the efficiency of the crew. Beyond the occasional "Captain on the bridge," the crew had learned to accommodate this policy.

But beyond even that, Reed was no longer _in_ the Enterprise's chain of command. He wasn't an officer of the starship anymore. Hell, he wasn't even in uniform. The proffered courtesy was completely unwarranted – and unwanted. Under such circumstances, it was a sign of the highest respect. It was the best welcome that the Reed of three months ago could have imagined. Now it was almost more than he could stand.

Reed almost left right then, overwhelmed by the gesture that he had done nothing to deserve. They thought he was a hero returning from some horrific ordeal. Instead he was a traitor, hidden behind other people's lies. The story that protected him was not even his own creation. Whatever he had suffered was only his just due. His former staff's respect curdled in his stomach.

"As you were." The response came automatically. Rather than returning to their stations, most of the staff in the Armoury began to crowd around to greet and welcome him. Reed returned their greetings with a tight smile. His heart raced. This was as much a trap as if the walls were closing in on him. He wanted to run from their well wishes.

Tanner saved him. The Ensign waded into the small crowd, smiling broadly but waving his hands and calling out in an authoritative tone. "Alright, alright. Back to your stations. This Armoury won't run itself, you know!"

The group dispersed reluctantly, leaving only Tanner standing nearby. "Welcome back, sir," the ensign said ebulliently, holding out a hand. He looked as if he were only just restraining himself from embracing Reed, who accepted the handshake but let go quickly. He couldn't quite meet the younger man's eyes.

"Thank you," Reed said quietly, without pleasure. Tanner's smile shrank slightly. Reed could almost see the man's thoughts – _of course he's not quite recovered yet_. He wondered how much he had changed, in the eyes of his former subordinate. Tanner had certainly changed. Far from the anxious ensign who had once hesitantly accepted a temporary command while Reed was on a two-day away mission, the young man now standing before him seemed confident and comfortable with leadership. Reed wanted to remark upon it, but he swallowed the words. Tanner didn't need the praise of a traitor and a liar.

"We're glad to have you back," Tanner went on, apparently hoping to goad Reed into sharing his enthusiasm. "It's been way too long."

That, at least, Reed could agree with. He nodded gravely, letting his eyes wander around the Armoury. Not much had changed, to the casual glance. The configuration of torpedoes in storage was slightly different. The room was a touch more cluttered than it had been. Things had continued to function smoothly in his absence. That was something of a relief. They didn't really need him here. Whatever happened, he could be confident that the Enterprise was well protected.

"Would you like to look around, sir?" Tanner asked hopefully. "I'll be happy to show you the changes…" He trailed off as Reed shook his head.

"No, that's fine. Frankly, I'm not even sure if I'm supposed to be here," he admitted.

"Phlox?" Tanner grinned. He, like most of the Armoury personnel, was familiar with Reed's frequent exasperation with the doctor's unnecessary precautions. Reed did not smile.

"No." He didn't go on, though Tanner was clearly waiting for him to finish.

"Well," the ensign fumbled when the silence became too long, "you're always welcome here, sir. This is your Armoury."

"I'm not your commanding officer anymore," Reed pointed out sharply. "Speaking of which, where is Lieutenant Covan?"

"He's on the bridge, sir. I can call him down here if you'd like to meet him," Tanner added eagerly.

"No need. I'm sure I'll have the opportunity later."

The image of the Andorian lieutenant sitting at the tactical station on the bridge, waiting on the Captain's bidding, brought an unexpected pang. That was his place, Reed thought, not Covan's.

But it wasn't. Not anymore. He had forfeited that position when he agreed to Harris's offer. He had no right to it anymore. Even had Starfleet not replaced him with the Andorian, Archer had made it abundantly clear that Reed wasn't wanted anymore. He wasn't trusted. Down here in the Armoury, it was all too clear that he was no longer needed either. Which, no matter how much he told himself it was for the best, still stung.

It _was_ for the best, though. His former staff would have much better leadership under Covan. They would have a leader they could actually trust.

"Sir? Lieutenant Reed?"

Something tapped Reed lightly on the shoulder. He flinched away on instinct. Tanner pulled back apologetically.

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't think."

He didn't even seem surprised at Reed's reaction. Exactly how much talk had there been about his condition, Reed wondered, even as he forced himself to relax. Did they pity him? That thought left a sour aftertaste. There was nothing to pity him for. He had brought this upon himself by his own desertion.

Opting to pretend nothing had happened, Reed turned back to Tanner. "What do you think of Lieutenant Covan, Ensign?"

"Oh, he's very good, sir," Tanner said. "I don't have any complaints. He's been training us in Andorian tactics." The ensign smirked. "I think we'll be able to impress Commander Shran if we run into him again." Suddenly realizing his potential mistake, Tanner hurried to revise his statement. "He's not you, of course. We'd all rather have you back."

"Is that so?" Reed managed a bitter grimace of a smile, which Tanner seemed to mistake as genuine.

"Yes, sir. We're all eager for you to be back on duty."

It occurred to Reed that he had almost taken it for granted that Covan would be his permanent replacement. He hadn't given much thought to what would happen to himself. Tanner's ready assumption that he would soon return to duty startled him.

"We'll see," he said softly.

"Take your time, sir," Tanner said sympathetically. Reed wanted to spit the sympathy back at him. "We're just glad you're back safely." _Safely?_ That was a funny word for it, Reed thought. "Alex would have been glad, too. I'm sure he'd want me to pass on his regards."

It seemed a strange turn of phrase. "Would have?" Reed frowned. "Did he transfer?" It was odd, but not impossible. The Enterprise had rendezvoused with a Vulcan ship at least once in his absence. Reed supposed that Crewman Alex could have left on the ship. Tanner's eyes widened.

"I – Alex – I thought," Tanner stammered. "I thought…you would have heard, sir."

A cold claw pinched Reed's gut. "Apparently I haven't, Ensign. Heard what?"

"Crewman Alex gave his life in service, sir," Tanner said softly. Respectfully. "I'm sorry. I thought you knew."

Reed blinked numbly. His hands had gone clammy. "No. I hadn't heard." He could not bring himself to ask how. He was afraid to.

"We got in a firefight with the Orions," Tanner admitted cautiously, as if he were afraid of provoking a violent reaction. "He didn't make it back to the ship."

"I see." _Your fault. Your fault._ Reed's heart beat out a condemning rhythm. There was only one away mission Tanner could be talking about. He had _seen_ them, and yet he'd hidden. If he had approached them, no life would have been lost: not Alex's, and not the Orion slaves'.

"I'm sorry, sir," Tanner repeated. Reed nodded acknowledgement.

"Thank you for telling me." He took a step backward, needing an escape from the damning echo of his own life in his ears. "I…should go."

Tanner looked at him helplessly. "You're always welcome, sir."

"Thank you." He could stand the younger man's eyes on him no longer. Reed turned to leave and nearly fled as soon as the doors closed behind him, imagining he could still feel his former subordinate's eyes boring into his back.

Reed locked himself in his small room and paced savagely, pressing a balled fist over his mouth. He wanted to scream at the injustice. He, a cowardly traitor, had survived, while one of his best and most honourable men had fallen trying to rescue him from a fate that it was supposed he had gone to unwillingly. All he had done was watch from the safety of his hiding place. It was so wrong. Reed bit down on his fingers until they twinged sharply. He felt tense and dangerous, like a wild animal trapped with nothing to occupy itself; with nothing to tear at but itself. He wondered if he should return to Sickbay, but dismissed the possibility. Phlox would think him crazy.

Something in the room chimed. Reed stopped short. It took him several long seconds to understand the source of the sound – the computer monitor. Slowly, he unclenched aching hands and went to turn on the screen. He'd received a text communication.

 _Lieutenant Reed_

 _Report to my ready room promptly for debriefing._

 _Captain Jonathan Archer_

His official statement. Reed's mind unfogged slowly. He should have been expecting this. Phlox at the least had heard scattered bits of his story, but he had yet to make any official statement. In retrospect he was surprised it had taken so long. Probably Phlox had been preventing it before now. But even the Chief Medical Officer's authority only went so far, light years away from Starfleet headquarters and with an angry Captain breathing down his neck for answers.

Reed hadn't seen Archer since in person since their first conversation in Sickbay, and based on how well that had gone, he was far from thrilled at the prospect. Then again, he didn't have much of a choice.

* * *

Reed opted to enter the ready room through the small hall outside the Captain's mess rather than through the bridge. He didn't want the eyes of the bridge crew on him. Deciding to err on the safe side, Reed reported in formally to Archer.

"Sit," Archer instructed curtly, motioning to the chair directly across from him. On the table between them was a recorder. The microphone pointed at Reed like a reproachful finger.

"You are here to make your official statement about what happened during the approximately six weeks of your absence," Archer said without waiting. "This need not be an in-depth recount of every detail. I will request further interviews if I deem it necessary. Please include only the level of detail that you believe is relevant."

It was strange to hear Archer being so formal. "I intend to record this entire conversation," the Captain went on. "Do I have your consent?"

Reed nodded, but spoke hurriedly as Archer's hand moved to turn on the recorder. "Captain…what do you want me to say?" Was Starfleet to receive the whole story? Presumably Archer had invented the version of the tale circulating among the crew. Was that to be the official story? Archer stared at him hard.

"Are you asking me to tell you to lie?" he said coldly. Reed's heart sank. That hadn't been how he intended it at all. Before he could say anything, Archer continued. "If it wasn't perfectly clear, I want the truth, Lieutenant. Whatever your version of the truth may be, at any rate," he added. Reed tried not to wince. Archer turned the recorder on.

"Please state your full name for the record."

"Lieutenant Malcolm Reed of the starship Enterprise." The words still came naturally, but as soon as they were out Reed wondered if it was a misstep. Of the starship Enterprise? Was he still? His hands twitched nervously in his lap, and only with a conscious effort did he still them.

"Starting from the beginning, then. When did you first consider leaving the Enterprise?"

"It was the day before the away mission. I –" Reed fumbled awkwardly. "I don't remember the date."

Archer named the date of the away mission for the record, speaking to the microphone rather than to Reed.

"At approximately 2100 I received a communication from Earth," Reed explained. He hesitated. Could he speak openly? But if there was one thing he could trust, it was that the Section would quell any information as necessary.

"Who was the communication from?" Archer prompted.

"A man named Harris," Reed said. "He was someone I knew previously."

"How?"

"An employer."

Archer looked hard at Reed, who felt he was trying to stare down a snake. "Go on."

"He wanted me to come work for him again. He explained a plan that would get me off the Enterprise. I was to join an away mission that would take place the next day…" Archer's eyes narrowed. Had he known that? Reed hesitated, thrown off. "I…was to be captured by other agents working for Harris. He claimed they would replace me with the body of a clone grown from a Lyssarian Desert Larva."

"Why did Harris want you?"

"He didn't say specifically. He implied that he had a mission from me."

"Did he threaten you?"

Even now, Archer's question held a fixed sort of plea. Harris's words rang in Reed's mind. _You know what happens if you refuse to pay what you owe to the Section. He swallowed hard._

"No."

"Did he coerce you in any way?"

 _You came back because you needed a favour. You are in my debt, and I intend to make good on that. Surely you haven't forgotten what it means to owe a debt to the Section?_

Reed did not let himself falter.

"No."

There was a long pause. Reed did not look at Archer, but he could feel the man's hard gaze on him. "Go on," the captain said levelly after a while. "You agreed to go, correct?"

"Yes."

"Of your own free will?"

 _It doesn't seem I have much of a choice in this._

 _You don't._

"Of my own free will."

"Would you please repeat that louder?"

"I went of my own free will," Reed said. The words were like ash in his mouth. Archer continued to watch him closely.

"You followed the plan Harris described?"

"Yes." Reed took a steadying breath. "I requested to accompany the away mission. I allowed myself to become slightly separated from the rest of the team. When we were near an outcrop of rocks, I was hit from behind with a dart. I began to feel sedative effects from the dart shortly after. Commander Tucker called to me. He sounded alarmed. I looked behind me and saw what appeared to be members of an indigenous race approaching me. I supposed they were Harris's agents in disguise. I don't remember anything after that; I must have gone unconscious."

"What is the next thing you remember?"

"I woke up on board a ship. Harris was there."

"What kind of ship?"

Reed hesitated. "It was a Klingon Bird of Prey."

Archer's eyes widened. He clearly hadn't been expecting this. Did he not realise, Reed wondered desperately, that the Section was truly everywhere? Its hands were in every pocket, its ears and eyes in every place.

"Lieutenant, you claim that you were transported on a Klingon warship?"

"Yes."

"Continue," Archer said after another hard look.

Reed went on. He told the microphone – because he couldn't look directly at Archer – about his arrival at Jupiter station; about realizing that the Klingon ship was cloaked; about the strange medical procedure he'd undergone at the Jupiter Station facility. He explained how he had been transported aboard the _Stalagmite_ , a heavily armed ship disguised as a freighter; how Harris had explained his – Reed did not say _the Section's_ – involvement with a secret Romulan organization. More slowly, he told of the 'briefing' he'd received about his supposed cooperation with the Romulans in a mission involving the possible presence of the Anachron species nearby. He related the exchange between Keyar and Harris in the airlock, and his own sale to the Romulans. With distance from the actual event, fear was replaced with shame.

He spoke of the Romulans, of things he hadn't realised he remembered until he was speaking them aloud. He heard his own voice telling Archer everything he could recall, in a level, rational tone. He was a spectator to his own recounting. The images his own words dredged up were almost mesmerising.

He told Archer of S'Trep and the Orions. He described the slave market, and the Denobulans: Fenzin and the little girl who by all rights should never have been within a hundred light years of that damn brothel. Reed could only listen to his own story as he was sold to Entek and fought him, cursing his own idiocy in not properly securing the unconscious slaver. Instead of watching Archer's reaction, he watched in his mind's eye as the away team came and went. The fire blazed up and he fled with the Denobulans and the Romulan, who Entek shot when he returned for Reed. But really, it was alright that Entek had come back for him; it was alright because at least he hadn't taken that little girl too. The Andorian in the cage hadn't wanted to fight him, but it never had a choice – never had a choice or a chance. The next alien hadn't wanted a fight either; not even the Tellarite wanted it. But Entek and the shouting crowd with chains and knives had wanted it, so it hadn't mattered.

Reed ran out of anything to say quite unexpectedly in the middle of a losing fight with the Orion. There was nothing left to tell. He couldn't remember Archer and Tucker retrieving him. Reed felt wrung out and dazed by the intensity of the memories. He couldn't stop his hands from trembling. Archer said a few things to the microphone that Reed didn't hear, before switching it off.

"That will be all, Lieutenant." Archer's voice was quiet. Some of his earlier hostility had gone. "You are dismissed."

Reed rose shakily and left through the Captain's mess, not wanting to risk human interaction. He walked unsteadily toward his quarters, a hand on the wall for support. This was ridiculous, Reed told himself firmly, though it did not seem to help. _It was only a report._

"Hey, Malcolm," a cheerily familiar voice greeted him. After a moment's concentration, Reed was able to place the voice as Tucker's.

"You okay?"

Through a field of vision that kept stubbornly trying to narrow, Reed saw Tucker walking towards him, the greeting on his face quickly giving way to concern. _Answer him._ His mouth didn't work. There was a strange buzzing whine in his ears that almost blocked out Tucker's cry of alarm.

The next thing Reed knew, he was leaning back against the wall with an iron grip on his upper arms. Tucker was right in front of him, talking in an urgent tone.

"Malcolm? Hey, c'mon. I need you to talk to me. You okay?"

"What…" Reed slurred. He felt numb and oddly off-balance. The world had tilted several degrees. He clutched at Tucker's arms to steady himself.

"That's it. You're okay. Come on, I'm going to help you sit."

Reed shook his head experimentally in an effort to re-orient himself. He was still on his feet, which was something of a relief.

"I'm not gonna let you fall. Just sit," Tucker coaxed.

"No," Reed protested. "I'm…fine, Trip."

"Like hell you are," Tucker said, without heat. "You just passed out."

Reed found he was shaking badly. The cold in his hands had spread up his arms, but was slowly receding now. "I'm fine. Just want to go…lay down."

"Yeah, you sure will," Tucker said. "You're gonna lay your ass straight down on a biobed in Sickbay."

Reed wanted to argue, and meant to, but wasn't sure what reasonable foundation he had on which to base his protest. He released his hold on Tucker's arms and blinked to clear his still-spotty vision. "I'm alright, Trip."

"What happened?"

"Nothing. I just need to get some sleep."

"Bullshit." Tucker would have none of it. "If you don't want t' tell me, that's fine. Yew can tell Phlox."

"I'm not going back to Sickbay." Reed was insistent.

"Don't make me order you." Cautiously, Tucker released Reed, one hand hovering nearby just in case. Reed pushed himself off the wall and stood stiffly through the ensuing rush of dizziness.

"You're not my commanding officer anymore."

Tucker scratched his head thoughtfully. "Alright, then. Don't make me carry yew."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

On reflection, Reed decided he did not want to try Tucker. He had a feeling that the stubborn Southerner just might carry through with his threat.

"Fine," he relented sullenly. "But there's nothing wrong with me." Nothing that Phlox could fix, anyway. Tucker eyed him critically, making Reed uncomfortably conscious of the fact that he was still shaking noticeably.

"Alright, Malcolm. Let's have Phlox make that call, huh?"

* * *

"Is he alright, Doc?" Tucker asked anxiously as Phlox emerged from his office, where he had taken Reed immediately upon Tucker's brief explanation.

"Hm?" Phlox seemed distracted. "Oh, yes." He offered an absent and unconvincing smile. "Mr. Reed will be quite alright."

"What happened?"

"Commander, you are not included in Captain's privilege," Phlox said reproachfully, referring to the exception to medical confidentiality which allowed a ship-board doctor to inform the captain of otherwise protected details about crew members' health. "I cannot discuss a patient's medical condition with you."

Tucker looked at him in consternation. On a number of occasions, he'd been present during discussions of other crew members' health. Never before had Phlox used confidentiality against him. Phlox seemed to sense his confusion.

"On board a starship, medical information is often pertinent to a crewman's performance of duties. Therefore, medical confidentiality has been relaxed as a general rule to allow Captain's privilege to extend to commanding officers in most cases." His eyes skimmed without attentiveness over the PADD he held. He finished the thought delicately. "The only exception to that is when the patient explicitly requests confidentiality."

"Malcolm asked yew not to tell me," Tucker concluded grimly.

"Indeed he did, Mr. Tucker, and I am bound to respect his wishes."

Tucker glanced up curiously. "What's he hiding?" he mused rhetorically.

"I was under the impression you knew Mr. Reed quite well," Phlox said. "Perhaps you ought to ask him."

That hurt. Over the past three months, Tucker had come to realise he didn't know Reed nearly as well as he'd thought. Still, he didn't think the doctor's reason for bringing it up was to taunt him.

"Or perhaps you may figure it out on your own, hm?" Phlox said lightly. Tucker understood that this was the last the doctor would say on the matter.

Reed emerged from the doctor's office, still pale but substantially steadier. He didn't look happy – not that there was anything unusual about that, Tucker thought. Reed had been on edge since the first time Phlox allowed Tucker in to visit him.

"If you don't mind, I'd like you to walk Mr. Reed back to his quarters," Phlox told Tucker.

"Yeah, sure. Yew alright, Malcolm?"

"Yes," Reed responded quickly. "I told you before, Trip. I'm fine."

"Okay." Tucker put his hands up in surrender. "I'm just askin', is all."

Reed turned to him as soon as they left Sickbay. "You don't need to walk me back. I'll be fine."

He wouldn't look directly at Tucker. "I think I'll follow doc's orders," Tucker decided. Reed shrugged.

"Suit yourself."

They made the walk in silence. Tucker tried to think of something to say as Reed unlocked the door of his quarters.

"Lissen, Malcolm. Yew know you can trust me, right?"

It was ironic, given that Reed had broken his trust – broken all of their trust – by leaving the Enterprise, and yet here he was reassuring the man that he could trust Tucker. Tucker was hardly the one whose trustworthiness was in question.

"Can I?"

The question was surprisingly genuine. Tucker hadn't expected such a response. He didn't know what he'd expected – a sarcastic answer, probably, or maybe even open hostility.

"Yew know you can."

The door closed on Reed's curt and utterly uncommunicative nod.

* * *

The thinly carpeted floor felt worn under Reed's feet.

He'd made an honest effort to sleep after the forced visit to Sickbay. The tangled knob of sheets on the lower bunk was a testament to that short-lived attempt. His mind was too full, both of Phlox's words and his interview with Archer, winding together and playing on loop every time he came even remotely near to sleep. He'd given it up as a bad job after about an hour and resumed pacing around the small room.

After hearing Tucker's explanation, which was much more detailed than Reed considered necessary, Phlox had taken Reed straight into his office for evaluation. He'd examined him with a hand-scanner and asked a few questions. Reluctantly, Reed had revealed his recent report to the Captain.

"I was afraid this might happen," Phlox had said ambiguously.

Reed scuffed his feet on the rough carpet, trying to distract himself with the sensation. It didn't work.

He'd been mortified when Phlox had kindly explained that the symptoms he described were an anxiety attack. The doctor had offered to keep him "under observation" in case it should happen again. Reed had refused outright and without hesitation. He'd made a _report_. It shouldn't be a problem. It _wasn't_ a problem. Unfortunately, Phlox believed otherwise, and had taken the opportunity to reaffirm his insistence on daily examinations.

And now Tucker would be watching him closely. Reed couldn't blame him, but he also couldn't trust him, regardless of Tucker's assurances. Things were different now than they had been, and in every word that Tucker spoke Reed looked for accusation, for the anger that he'd seen in Archer. Instead he'd found only sadness and disappointment, which was even worse. The engineer seemed confused by Reed's refusal to speak openly. After all this, why hadn't Tucker come to expect deceit from him?

Reed's computer chirped, making his stomach drop. Archer again? Had the Captain gotten an incriminating report from Phlox, perhaps? But when he got the nerve up to check the message, he found that it wasn't Archer at all.

 _Hey Malcolm, movie night's on Wednesday. It's Travis's turn to choose. Want to come? –Trip_

Reed blinked at the message, half expecting it to change. After his ungracious parting with Tucker earlier, he hadn't expected to hear from him for a while. He checked the date on the computer, feeling strangely disoriented by the fact that it was already Monday afternoon, ship's time. Why that was strange or what day it was supposed to be, he couldn't say.

He considered the offer carefully, wondering if it was a guise for something else. But this was Tucker, not Harris. Reed hated himself for his instinctive suspicion of even Tucker. He didn't want to go to movie night, but he'd been impolite earlier without cause. By way of indirect apology, he ignored his better judgement.

 _Sure._


	18. Chapter 18

It wouldn't take long, Archer told himself. Just a few minutes; just a few words. Just a little longer and Reed would no longer be his problem to deal with. Somehow he didn't find that comforting in the least. He'd spent the past two and a half weeks trying and failing to figure out what the hell to do with Reed, but now that it was not his decision, he found himself surprisingly resentful at both Starfleet and Phlox. A _pending diagnosis_ , for god's sake. What did that mean?

He knew, of course, what it meant. It was Phlox's way of discreetly forcing Starfleet to recall Reed without permanently destroying his career. Phlox wanted his patient away from Archer. Back on Earth he would be re-evaluated, of course, but both Archer and Phlox knew by now that Reed could talk his way through damn near anything, not least a psyche evaluation. He'd be written a clean bill of health and a new assignment. Maybe he'd even get onto another starship, if he was lucky.

Of course, it was entirely possible that his career would be destroyed even without a debilitating medical diagnosis. Starfleet had opened a highly classified but official investigation upon receiving Archer's report and Reed's recorded testimony.

Archer was both resentful and relieved that Phlox had dealt with the situation so quietly and capably. On the one hand, what business of the doctor's was it how he dealt with Reed? On the other hand, he still had no workable solution to the problem and he couldn't simply do nothing. Now Reed would be out of his hands.

"You won't be staying on the Enterprise."

"Yes, sir."

Phlox had also informed Archer that he was not to interact with Reed without the doctor present. He had not submitted any paperwork to Starfleet to this effect, but he'd strongly hinted that he could and would if Archer disregarded his directions. Archer did not appreciate being strong-armed into supervision whenever he wanted to talk to his former officer, but he also wasn't prepared to go head-to-head with the stubborn Denobulan. A queasy sensation in his gut suggested that Phlox might have a good point. He hadn't exactly followed doctor's orders concerning Reed, and he couldn't blame the Denobulan for his caution. This time Archer had gone through proper channels as far as Phlox was concerned. As a result, his current meeting with Reed was in Sickbay with the doctor hovering somewhere nearby. If Phlox wanted to put Reed at his ease, Archer thought wryly, Sickbay was a strange choice of location.

"Starfleet is recalling you to Earth," Archer said. "The Vulcans have agreed to grant you passage on one of their ships."

If Reed was surprised, he did not show it. He only nodded as if it was expected.

"Your case is under investigation," Archer told him. He'd felt grimly vindicated upon learning that. Now, looking at Reed's pale face, Archer only felt tired disappointment. All those years ago he'd built a team he thought he could trust. They'd saved the world together, literally; and all along one had been answering to another leader. Reed swallowed hard but said nothing.

"These are your orders," Archer added, handing a PADD to Reed. "You'll be leaving in two days."

Reed took the PADD automatically. He seemed to understand that this was a final parting, for as Archer turned to leave he stepped forward impulsively.

"Captain." He spoke in a rush. "I know you have no reason to believe me, but it has been an honour serving with you." He held out a hand.

Archer could think of a lot of things to say to that, but he didn't respond immediately. As much as he wanted to give a sharp answer, it simply wasn't true that he had no reason to believe Reed's words. He knew the pride his former officer had taken in serving on the Enterprise. He knew Reed regretted his own actions with regard to Harris; but it wasn't enough. Now, Reed wanted their parting to be one of mutual respect, if not of liking.

Something ugly and angry rose up in Archer – the thing that the Expanse had birthed in him, the thing that had distanced him from Tucker and spoken contemptuously to Reed and chewed away at Archer's morals until they had become bare skeletal spectres in the back of his mind. The thing pounced on the festering pool of Archer's indecision and stirred it into a filthy sludge.

"You're right, Lieutenant," he said quietly to Reed – without heat, without spite, and for a moment he saw something that was almost hope in the man's eyes. "I have no reason to believe you."

Phlox would be furious with him. Archer didn't wait to find out, and left without meeting Reed's eyes or his proffered handshake. That was his style these days, he thought, sick with self-disgust. Spit his poison and leave without waiting to see the damage. A hit-and-run, as it were.

He tried to quell the guilt. His resentment toward both Phlox and Reed was not misplaced, he argued. Reed more than deserved his anger, and Phlox had taken it upon himself to throw around medical terms and regulations in an effort to protect Reed from the consequences of his own behaviour. A pending diagnosis, indeed. Archer had known Phlox long enough by now to know when he was throwing up smokescreens.

* * *

It had been a bad idea to come to movie night.

Reed arrived a few minutes late, hoping Tucker would decide he wasn't coming. But Tucker had never given up on him before, and he was waiting outside the mess hall when Reed approached.

Mayweather had chosen some old horror film – or maybe a thriller. Reed had never seen much difference. This one featured a group of college students, on vacation in Rome, who found an entrance to underground catacombs and went exploring, despite what Reed considered clear and obvious warning signs. They didn't even go _armed_. Of course there were poltergeists or spirits or what-not. The plot was predictable, but most of the other crew members seemed to be enjoying themselves.

The caves started flooding.

It was all fake, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Reed rose quietly and slipped out of the room, careful to open the door as little as possible so the light from outside would not disturb the others. He leaned casually back against the wall and perused a PADD without actually reading it, just so that no one passing would talk to him.

The door opened again and Tucker emerged, looking concerned. He relaxed visibly upon seeing Reed standing calmly outside.

"Not really my kind of film," Reed said apologetically.

Tucker nodded. "I'm not much in th' mood either." He studied Reed speculatively. "Let's take a walk," he suggested.

Reed did not object, but he felt himself growing tense. He could think of no reason Tucker would want to 'take a walk' other than to bring up exactly the questions Reed didn't want to discuss. Still, he slid the PADD back into his pocket and followed Tucker, who slowed down to let him catch up. To Reed's surprise, however, Tucker didn't question him. They walked through the halls in silence for several minutes before Tucker spoke.

"What is yer type of movie?"

"I don't really have one," Reed admitted, guarded despite the apparently innocuous query. "I never had a lot of time for films."

"They're an important part of cultural understandin'."

"Many films are based on books," Reed said. "I would prefer to read the original work as its author intended, not watch the version doctored by some company for mass appeal."

"That's fair," Tucker conceded. He was quiet for a moment. "What's yer type of book, then?" A hint of bitterness crept into his tone. "Mystery? Spy novels?"

Reed made no reply and refused to meet Tucker's eyes when the other man looked at him. Tucker sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said. He sounded tired and hurt. "That was uncalled for."

"I deserve it," Reed confessed softly. Tucker's words stung, but he was frankly surprised both that it had taken so long for the resentment to surface and that Tucker hadn't been harsher. The engineer ran a weary hand through his hair and didn't answer.

He stopped by a small access hatch and removed the panel, then felt around inside for the light switch.

"Travis showed me this place." He nodded inside. "Go ahead."

Reed's skin crawled at the thought of entering such a cramped space. But Tucker was his superior officer, after all, so he shut his mouth on the protests that welled up and stepped carefully through the small hatch.

The difference was immediately apparent. Reed's feet rested only lightly on the floor. He felt weightless. Startled by the sudden, disorienting lack of gravity, he clutched at the side of the hatch as Tucker came through.

It wasn't a small room at all, Reed realised. It was cylindrical, about three metres in width and five in height. He and Tucker stood on one of the flat ends of the cylinder. Cautiously, he released his grip on the edge of the hatch and found that his feet did not quite leave the door. Tucker pulled the hatch closed.

"There's a slight amount of gravity at both ends, but it's null in th' centre," he explained, smiling at Reed's obvious astonishment. "It's because of th' warp core. We're directly above it."

Now that he knew that, Reed could feel the subtle, powerful vibration in the air. How had he spent so many years on the Enterprise without ever knowing of this place?

"I didn't know about this until Travis showed me," Tucker said, unconsciously mirroring Reed's thoughts. "All th' freighters have a sweet spot too." He pushed off the floor and drifted up to the ceiling, settling himself in a comfortable seated position. Reed followed him with less grace. It had been a long time since he was in close to nil gravity, and it was a strange and unsettling sensation. He rather liked it.

It took a minute or two to perform the necessary mental gymnastics to re-orient himself and convince his brain to switch _up_ and _down_. When he managed it, he sat a safe distance from Tucker on what he now registered as the floor. Feeling awkward with the silence, he toyed aimlessly with his long sleeves.

"I'm workin' on some modifications to th' warp engine," Tucker volunteered, sensing Reed's discomfort. "Tryin' to stabilize th' field so it won't cause gravimetric distortions."

"You're trying to get rid of this spot? Why?"

"Yeah. Well – not that I want to get rid of it, see. But it's caused by an inconsistency in th' warp field that becomes greater with a higher warp power. That's why this room exists – it's a buffer, so those distortions won't hurt anythin'. But that's also why we can't go past warp five yet. The destabilization of warp field containment gets to a point where th' ship starts tearing herself apart. I think if I can fix th' containment problem we might be able t' get a higher warp factor. But it'll also get rid of this place."

"Oh." Good things did have to end, of course. Reed felt a sadness disproportionate to the loss of this little pocket of weightlessness. He thought about leaving the Enterprise in just a few days. He hadn't told Tucker yet, or anyone else; apart from Archer and Phlox, he suspected only T'Pol knew.

"Yew could work on it with me," Tucker offered. Reed glanced over and was struck by the forlorn hope in his eyes. Tucker knew that things would never be as they had been. Too much had happened for them to ever go back to that. But still he was trying – he wasn't giving up, even though he knew how absolutely hopeless it was. He was trying so hard to forgive Reed for a wrong he didn't understand. A wrong that wasn't forgivable. Reed looked away.

"No," he said softly. "I can't. Trip, I –" He almost couldn't say it. "– I'm leaving."

"I don't understand," Tucker said after a long pause, sounding bewildered. "What do you mean, leavin'? Leavin' what?"

"The Enterprise. I'm leaving the Enterprise."

Tucker sucked in a quick breath. Reed couldn't tell the emotion behind it. "When?"

"Tomorrow," Reed admitted.

"What?" Tucker was startled and upset. "What do yew mean, yer leavin' tomorrow? What the hell are yew talkin' about?"

"The Vulcans are taking me back to Earth," Reed explained quietly.

"What th' hell!" Tucker demanded. "Yew can't just leave – again! Especially not now!"

The 'again' hurt more than Reed cared to admit. "I don't have a choice."

"What do yew mean?" Tucker asked, still angry but marginally more cautious.

"I'm being recalled," Reed confessed. He felt his face flushing with shame. "I'm not to serve on a starship. For now, at least. And…I'm being investigated."

"But…" Tucker's anger had drained completely. "…why?"

The seam on Reed's sleeve caught on a hangnail, dragging a sliver of blue thread out. He picked at the loose thread to avoid making eye contact. There was an obvious reason for an investigation, of course. He'd deserted, practically committed treason. But both he and Tucker knew that other things had been covered up before. Why not this? He balled the thread up and rubbed it between his fingers.

"Phlox…thinks I have post-traumatic stress disorder," he said. After all the time he'd spent thinking about it in the last day, he found that the words came with surprising ease. They were just words. They could apply to anyone. "He hasn't had a long enough observation period to make it official, so it's just a pending diagnosis. But Phlox wouldn't let me stay, even if Captain Archer would." Tucker absorbed the news silently.

"And what d'yew think?" he asked at last, levelly. Reed shrugged self-consciously, staring down at his slightly-frayed sleeve.

"I don't know. I don't think…" Tucker waited patiently as Reed struggled to formulate his thoughts. "I don't know."

"I see."

Reed raised his eyes at last to meet Tucker's. The engineer was staring at him unreadably.

"I think he might be right," Reed said. The words seemed to break through a barrier he hadn't known existed until it had gone. "I didn't leave the film because I was bored, Trip."

"I know." Tucker gave him a faint, sad smile. He didn't seem surprised.

"It's not just now." Reed fiddled with his sleeve again. "Phlox explained the symptoms to me. Some of them…I was having some before all this started."

Tucker was puzzled. "Before all what?"

"Before Harris. The Romulans. The Orions. I…" He pulled his sleeve up and turned his hand over, revealing the scar between his thumb and forefinger from the hypospanner. Without the final regenerator treatment, the scar had become permanent. "Do you remember when I got this? With the hypospanner?" It seemed decades ago.

"Yes." Tucker was no less confused, but allowed Reed to continue without probing.

"It wasn't exactly an accident. I mean – it wasn't on purpose," he added hastily, seeing Tucker's face. "But it wasn't just a freak accident either. I was jumpy. I got distracted."

"Shit," Tucker said softly. Reed was inclined to agree. "When did this start?"

Reed ran his hand softly over the thin blue sleeve. He could feel the slight unevenness of his burn scars, now long faded, beneath the pads of his fingers. "After the temporal anomaly," he admitted. "I didn't know. But…" _Maybe I should have known. Maybe I didn't want to know._

"I don't know what t' say," Tucker told him.

"It doesn't matter." He was leaving tomorrow, anyway. Nothing anyone could say changed that.

"No, Malcolm, it does matter," Tucker said hotly, "because yer my friend. And I don't know why you left th' Enterprise for this person, this – Harris? but yew know what, I don't even care. You've done some pretty stupid things and hurt a lot of people, an' I can't tell yew that doesn't matter, because it does. I can't tell you I forgive you, because I don't even know what th' hell it is that yew _have_ done. I can't even say I'm not angry, because I'm damn angry. But…" He lost momentum. "Well, I'm still here."

Reed smiled weakly. "That's kind of you." It was more than he deserved by far.

"If there's anythin' I can do to help…"

"There's not. But I appreciate it." He did, more than he could express. He knew that his relationship with Tucker had been damaged far beyond any possibility of healing, but Tucker's continued loyalty meant more than he knew how to say. He looked up, startled, when Tucker put a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm serious, Malcolm. I know things are…messed up, I guess, but I'm not givin' up."

Reed had to blink back unexpected emotion. "Thank you," he said thickly. "And...I'm sorry. I know it's not good enough to say that. But thank you."

"Yeah."

Reed was glad Tucker didn't try to dispute him. It would have felt feigned, and there was enough deceit between them already.

"When is th' crew findin' out you're leaving?" _And what will they be told?_ The unspoken question was easily discernible.

"I was going to tell my staff the morning of and leave a memo for the Captain to send out to the rest," Reed said. "Just that I've been recalled to Earth for questioning. And medical evaluation, I suppose." It was mostly true, anyway.

"Hmm." Tucker nodded thoughtfully. "I think yew should tell Hoshi an' Travis, at least. They care about yew a lot."

"They shouldn't."

"That ain't really yer choice to make, Malcolm."

"I suppose not." Reed sighed. "I've had enough of lying." His noncommittal answer seemed to satisfy Tucker, though in reality he had little intention of broaching the subject with anyone else.

"Good." Tucker gave his shoulder a squeeze before releasing it. "Who knows? Maybe goin' back to Earth won't be such a bad thing. You'll be able to visit yer family, anyway."

Reed looked sharply at him to see if this was a hidden jibe, but Tucker's eyes only showed sincerity. Reed forced an unconvincing smile. He wasn't going to open that can of worms, not now or probably ever.

"Sure," he said. "I guess I can."

* * *

In the end, he said nothing to Sato and Mayweather. He'd not made an effort to see anyone since his return to the Enterprise, and on the occasions when he had seen them, they clearly felt awkward and unsure what to say to him. He seemed to have that effect on people these days. Reed didn't want their pity or their unspoken questions in addition to their discomfort. Sato and Mayweather would find out the details of his recall soon enough. Tucker, thinking they knew, would probably mention it one way or another, and they would get the explanation from him. Nonetheless, it felt a bit underhanded to leave Tucker with a false assumption.

Sato, Mayweather, and Tucker accompanied Reed to the airlock where the Vulcan ship had docked. He'd been told to report to the ship promptly, but Reed was in no hurry. He was keenly aware that this was probably the last time that he would ever see any of them.

As they walked, it occurred to Reed that he had never actually met his replacement. Somehow, he had simply not crossed paths with the Andorian lieutenant. He remarked on this to Sato.

"I'm sure you'll meet him sometime," Sato said. Her faith in him to eventually return to the Enterprise was almost painful. It was best, he knew, that they never see him again. "He's a good man."

The words caught Reed's attention. He glanced sharply at Sato, discomfited by the fond smile on her face.

"As long as he's competent."

Sato laughed. "Don't worry, Malcolm. He'll keep your targeting scanners aligned."

"I suppose. The crew seems content with him."

"He takes good care of them."

"Not too good, I hope," Reed objected. "I'd hate to think he was easy on them."

"I'm sure the crew would rather be under your care," Sato reassured him. "I know I would."

Reed wondered what exactly she meant by that. Probably she meant very much less than he wished she did.

"We'll all miss you," Mayweather told him. 'All,' Reed thought, presumably meant only those who knew nothing more than his cover story – those who thought him blameless. If his absence was anything to judge by, Archer would not be sorry to have one less problem on his hands.

They lingered by the airlock in awkward conversation until there was no longer any way to pretend that they had anything of substance to discuss.

"I should go," Reed told them.

Mayweather shook his hand wordlessly. Sato hugged him. Reed allowed himself a moment of deep sadness that he would probably never see her again. Perhaps if he'd been braver…but if that was the case, he would never have gotten to this point anyway. Well – it was better not to know. That was a door that was firmly closed to him now, because of his own actions.

Tucker clasped his hand and patted him warmly on the shoulder. Reed marvelled at how Tucker seemed able to brush away the past weeks as if they had never happened.

"Stay in touch," Tucker instructed him.

"Sure." They both knew it wouldn't happen. Chances were that this was the last time they would ever speak.

Reed lifted his small bag of possessions and paused at the airlock, taking them in one last time. When he left, he did not look back.


	19. Epilogue

From the Armoury Officer's quarters, Lieutenant Teypir Covan watched through the ship's scanners as the last Vulcan vessel receded into the depths of space and vanished off of close-range scanners as it jumped to warp. He felt more at ease now that the Vulcans were gone, for more reasons than one. His people had no history of friendship with the Vulcans. Suspicions had arisen almost since the very first meeting of the two species, and in the present climate only their coexistence in the Coalition of Planets prevented open hostility. The new Vulcan regime was still viewed with mistrust by the Andorian government, as well it might – powerful as Administrator T'Pau's influence might be, the philosophy she promulgated ran contrary to the popular culture of almost the entire Vulcan home world. It was, in the view of many, a planet torn asunder by different interpretations of the teachings of the acclaimed Surak, a man who was supposed to have preached _peace_. Covan had heard the human adage that _a house divided against itself cannot stand_ , and with regard to the Vulcans, that view was shared by many of his people. Despite the fragile threads of the Coalition holding the two peoples together, the Andorian Empire watched the new Vulcan government like the proverbial hawk. Any sign of instability would be like blood in the water to the warmongering sharks of the Andorian military.

The first battle of what all expected to become a total war had occurred as recently as 2154. Only at the last moment had that situation been diffused by the very man who captained this ship. Captain Jonathan Archer, with his exemplary diplomacy skills and a healthy quantity of sheer defiance for the previous Vulcan regime, had not only averted such a war but had also been the primary cause of T'Pau's rise to power. He had in the process become something of a symbol to those political factions on Andoria Prime which were continually calling for peace and good relations with the Vulcans.

It was surely only because of Archer's rapport and a desire to maintain the superficial peace of the Coalition that the Vulcans had proved willing to deliver Covan from Earth to the Enterprise. Starfleet was a human organization, which made Covan almost human. It had nonetheless been an uncomfortable experience. The Enterprise had proved a pleasurable surprise after the awkwardness of travel on a Vulcan vessel.

Covan leaned back in his chair, tucking his blue-skinned hands thoughtfully behind his head and brushing one habitually over the tip of his shorter antenna as he did so. It had almost reached its full length by now. Soon no one but a physician familiar with Andorian physiology would be able to distinguish that it was not the appendage he had been born with.

Despite the refreshingly human culture aboard the Enterprise, the Vulcans had a presence even here in the form of the First Officer. Covan had found T'Pol, adapted as she was to interacting with humans, to be one of the most tolerable of her kind that he had ever encountered. However, she was a constant reminder of the overhanging threat of Vulcan presence growing throughout the sector. The Vulcans had gotten to the humans first; but the Andorians would not give up so easily.

Not that he was here on the business of Andoria. His current position was indeed the envy of all his government's intelligence agencies, but he had turned his back on many such propositions. No doubt the Empire still held out hope that someday Covan would come to his senses and offer up the wealth of information he now possessed. There was little chance of that. His loyalties no longer lay in that direction.

The Andorian gazed around the confines of the quarters he now inhabited, provided for him by a foreign government and a foreign people, but made familiar to him by the solidarity he shared with its previous occupant by reason of their mutual profession.

It was a pity he had never met Malcolm Reed. He would have liked to see what kind of a man his predecessor was, after all he had heard about him. Of course he could have met Reed if he'd chosen to, but it had been better to avoid him. It was safer that way. It could have been an unnecessary chance, and Covan had been well trained and strictly ordered to avoid such risks.

Harris would have his other antenna too if he disobeyed orders again.

* * *

 _End_

* * *

 _Afterword_

Teypir is pronounced Tay-peer, fyi.

I was actually quite disappointed with the way this story turned out. I think I had a decent plot, but it sort of fell through in the execution phase. I didn't I captured what I had in my head very eloquently. Oh well. You live and you learn. I enjoyed writing it, anyway.

In case you're interested, here's a little background about TDD.

* * *

The politics:

First of all, you may have noticed that someone named Sural was the Vulcan ambassador to Earth, not our familiar Soval. Here's my explanation for that (plus a little bit of extra nonsense.)

I use canon as a foundation and a guideline. However, I am in the business of filling in any and all of the gaps left by canon that are relevant to my story. I don't always explain my gaps on the page, but I do spend a lot of time reasoning out how the pieces fit. Please bear in mind that, when filling in gaps in canon, I take great creative license. It doesn't matter to me if I'm consistent with the Star Trek books (they're not consistent with each other, so forgive me if I don't take them too seriously) and I don't feel the need to follow the course of events that canon alludes to or strongly hints may happen (without creating an "official" story.) The only things I try to follow are the films and TV series. As far as I'm concerned, I'm in the clear as long as I'm not contradicting direct canon. "Plausibility" is my metric for measuring if my writing is canon enough. If there is a plausible path between established canon and the events I'm writing, then I feel free to make assumptions (even if I don't fully elaborate upon those assumptions within the story.) Here's the "plausible" story for Vulcan politics.

IMO, politics, even Vulcan politics, are a lot messier than we tend to see on-screen in Star Trek. We know that after the dissolution of the High Command in the ENT episode "Kir'Shara," T'Pau became administrator. But no one can convince me that she "magically" turned around a corrupted government in only a few years. Previously, the Syrrannites had been in the minority - probably the significant minority, if the stigma against them was widespread in Vulcan society. My guess is that there was a lot of backlash against T'Pau's rise to power. She would need as many allies as she could get to rebuild her government...and Soval is one of those allies. A well-known and still relatively popular ally, too, since I doubt the reason he was temporarily "fired" (his mind meld) was widely publicized. His support would be very helpful to her cause, especially as a visible presence in her favor. Why wouldn't T'Pau call him back to Vulcan to help her build a new government, rather than allowing his influence to "go to waste" on Earth?

But Vulcan still needs an ambassador to Earth, so T'Pau has to pick someone new. So she sends a Syrrannite ally to Earth – Sural. However, with any new appointment for a political office comes the opportunity for the Ministry of Security (read: the Vulcan version of Section 31, still very alive and kicking despite efforts to get rid of it. There's no easy way to purge a hidden cancer like that) to "influence" the government. There's no way the Ministry didn't have infiltrators among the Syrrannites...but since the Ministry is not equivalent to the Vulcan High Command, there was no pressing reason for the Ministry to act against the Syrrannites.

Is Sural a Ministry agent? Maybe, maybe not. It doesn't really matter...he's not Soval, and he hasn't had the time to grow "attached" to humans like Soval did. I don't think Soval would ever threaten an Earth ship, no matter who told him to. But Sural might, if the right person ordered him – as in, if the High Council gave the order. Who is the High Council? T'Pau is 'Administrator,' not 'Councilor,' which presumably means she holds a position in the government higher than, or at least different from, the members of the High Council. In other words: Sural may be getting his marching orders from a Vulcan governmental body that does not include T'Pau. Which means, he could be acting on the decisions of a group of Vulcans who aren't exactly expressing T'Pau's wishes. Stigmas take a long time to disappear, and T'Pau's trying to bring peace to all Vulcans...not every person in her government is in total agreement with her, but she's not going to give everyone the boot just because they have different opinions. She's trying to win the support of the people, not set herself up as a dictator. Hence, the High Council might threaten the Enterprise in order to get custody of S'Trep, even if T'Pau herself wouldn't.

* * *

What's next:

There is a third part to this story. (Obviously. That was a very unsatisfactory ending, and intentionally so.) Unfortunately, that third part is almost entirely in my head and is still largely in the "premise" phase; and given how poorly TDD turned out, I'm not sure I'll even attempt to write part 3. Even if I do, it could very well be another year or two before you hear anything more from me.

I know, I know, this is no way to attract readers. But, as much joy as your reviews bring me, I don't write for reviews and followers. I write because I can't help but write. So if you want to, check back in a year or so and bug me to publish something new. And if you don't want to, that's okay too. Thank you for sticking with me this far!


End file.
